Out West
by MidnightBlast
Summary: Colorado Territory, 1880. The Easy Company serves the wronged by righting injustice as a privatized security and detective agency. Being fronted and operated out of the Easy Saloon has its challenges, but Dick Winters wouldn't have it any other way. A tale of the men and women who work there, and the threat that looms to destroy everything they have built. A Western AU.
1. Prologue

**Out West**

 **Howdy, y'all! Here we go again. Welcome to this Band of Brothers Western AU! A few notes & then we'll saddle up: **

**1\. Rating: This story is a Heavy M for strong, strong sexual content. The majority of it is consensual, but there is a bit of prostitution. To comply with ratings here, I've toned it down from the full version on AO3, but if this doesn't sound like your thing, please proceed with caution. In addition, there's period typical racism & homophobia; strong language; gun violence; explosions; injuries; alcohol; smoking. All in the wild west variety.**

 **Relationships of focus: Speirs/OC, Nixon/OC, Nixon/Winters, and some Lipton/OC.**

 **2\. This fic does not intend to disrespect or besmirch the names of any members of the 506th PIR, who all have my deepest respect and admiration for their service and accomplishments. While the names of the heroes and villains in this tale are familiar, this is purely a work of fiction based on the HBO portrayals.**

 **3\. Historical Inaccuracy: It's there, even though I tried to minimize it. This was largely written with the "Kingsman: The Golden Circle" soundtrack playing in the background, so it's a bit stylized. With exception of Colorado Territory, all the names of locations are fictional. There are discussions and appearances by Native Americans in this tale, but to minimize unintended offense, they are not identified as any specific tribe. Nor are their customs or behaviors intended to reflect any specific tribe or practice. They are generally fictionalized for the time period. All that I know about westerns comes from tv, movies and the internet (the eagle-eyed folks will see some obvious nods scattered throughout).**

 **3\. Either I'm a poor internet researcher or gave up too soon, but I was unable to discover Speirs' middle name beyond the "C". If anyone knows and is willing to share, I'll make the necessary corrections.**

 **Much obliged for y'all stopping by. I hope that y'all enjoy! And if you do (or don't), I'd love to hear from you!**

* * *

The Easy Company. Spearheaded by the Major and manned by his company of Screaming Eagles.

No one really knows why the agents are called by that name, but there are lots of rumors and stories. So many stories in fact, there are plenty of folks in the territory who claim that the Easy Company is nothing more than one giant, made-up legend. But the minute someone shows up with a playing card from the suit of spades branded with a very particular 'E', everyone takes notice.

Aside from the Major himself, only a handful of other names are associated with the Company. Sarge. Sparky. Some swear there's a Doc in there somewhere. Others hear tell of someone - or something - called a Luz. But the men come and go from various towns across the region. Hell, one of them was even out California way once.

Collecting a bounty over there. Settling a water rights dispute over here. Burning a bank to the ground out there. Well, there wasn't any proof of that one. But the folks of Sweetgrass Ridge swear it was an agent of Easy who burned the bank down and returned all the money that had been collected in the name of false taxes.

There was no problem too big or too small for an agent of Easy to solve, providing the right pay was available. It was still a business after all, even if it was in the business of helping people. The Major, though. He was rumored to be a soft-hearted man. It was said, if you could talk to the Major directly, he'd be more inclined to lend a sympathetic ear and likely offer you a reduced price. But talking directly with the Major was a head-scratcher in of itself.

They weren't quite a private police force - some of their members had extraordinary tales boarding on criminality - but the Company had no obvious office or headquarters. It was just easier to operate under assumed anonymity - less chance for retaliation but it invited the risk of reduced clients.

In hindsight, six years in, Winters should have never worried about it.

It wasn't that they were hiding exactly, but save for the men in the company, no one else had enough pieces to put the whole puzzle together. Maybe that's why Nixon's name for the front saloon had been so perfect. The Easy Saloon. Nothing like hiding in plain sight.

At the time, Winters would never have guessed that his introduction to Lewis Nixon would lead him here. To the town of Bluewater in the southern part of the Colorado territory. To running a saloon as a front for a private detective agency. That's how he best liked to think of the Company.

And it had all started with three little words.

"Going my way?"


	2. April

The first rays of dawn shone through the windows as she lit the oil lamp in the kitchen. The stove was next, and the wood caught fire quickly beneath the kettle that she prepared the previous evening. Coffee was always the first order of business. Breakfast could trail behind, but Dick would reach for the coffee kettle first thing.

Lily had always marveled at Dick's ability to rise with the sun, no matter how late the previous night stretched. She'd seen him up as late as 3 am, and yet he would still be downstairs, mug of steaming hot coffee in hand by 7 am. By contrast, there probably wasn't coffee strong enough in the world to rouse her other boss from sleep before 9 am. By then, the smell of food and general noise would wake the rest of the men, and she'd make the rounds to wake the girls.

With a dull clunk, she set the cast iron skillet on the warming stove top. She'd picked up a hearty slab of bacon yesterday, anticipating the return of Luz and Ron late during the night. It would be a nice welcoming treat for them after weeks, nearly three months, out on a job. Shaking off a yawn, she reached for a long knife, cutting the meat into thick strips. It surprised her at first, but the quiet of early morning had become one of her favorite times of day. Everyone was still asleep or just waking up, and she had time to run through her list of chores for the day before opening time. Such a far cry from her previous life.

"Good mornin', Lily." Dick always sounded so pleasant first thing in the morning. She'd long suspected that this was also his favorite time of day, too.

"Mornin'." She smiled over her shoulder at him before turning back to the bacon. "Sleep alright?"

"Just fine, thanks. And yourself?"

"Can't complain." The first strip hit the pan with a searing sizzle.

"Mmm, that looks wonderful."

"Yes, sir. Thought it'd be a nice homecoming for Luz and Ron."

"You're going to spoil them." He smiled in amusement as he reached for coffee kettle, pouring a steaming mug-full. "They're going to think you actually missed them."

There was more truth on that than she wanted to confess this early in the morning. Instead, she offered a coy grin, glancing over. From the answering smirk on his face, she got the feeling he already knew.

"Well now, you sent them out for almost three months. Right in time for all that harsh winter weather." She still remembered when they had left in early January, and it was April now. "I want to show them that we've all missed them." She turned back to the pan, laying in the last strip. "Besides, Ron'll probably need something to improve his spirits after that long with only Luz for company. You know how they can get."

Dick chuckled lightly as he moved for the table, scraping a chair across the wood floor to sit. "That's why I sent them on it together. It'd be good for them both to learn some self-restraint."

"Either that," she said with a shake of her head, reaching for the basket of eggs, "or one of them won't come back." In that case, her money was on Luz. The younger man's playful manner had more than once grated heavily on the nerves of the older irascible man. Part of her wouldn't put it past Ron to put a bullet between Luz's eyes if he was pushed far enough.

"They'll both come back. Despite what you've seen, they wouldn't turn on each other like that."

She started cracking eggs in a mixing bowl, knowing that Dick was more than likely right.

He knew his men far better than she did. They weren't supposed to be her concern, anyway. Her concern was keeping up the front cover with the girls, and preventing them from finding out what business was really conducted out of The Easy Saloon.

"I may need to bring Doc Mul by today." She said, not looking over at Dick but able to feel his questioning gaze. "Ginny was complaining about that tooth again last night."

"That's fine. I hope it's nothing serious."

"Me, too. The last one was dreadful. If it is something serious, I don't know how I'll even get Ginny to agree to a procedure."

"If it is serious, we'll deal with it. If Luz isn't around, Nix can help."

"I hope it doesn't come to that. I don't know for sure that she'll even agree to see Doc Mul today."

"If she comments on her tooth again, you should just see to arranging a visit. I don't want to not take care of her."

She couldn't help a warm smile. Dick had always been so thoughtful and generous towards women of her station. He had expressed his displeasure from the outset of employing saloon girls, but he couldn't argue against Lew that a saloon of men offering only booze and cards would surely raise questions.

Instead, he laid some strict ground rules – the girls could decide if they wanted a trick for the evening, allowing them to focus instead on getting the men to play faro and buy booze, but if they accepted extra coin for taking a man in their bed that was their decision. Physical beatings from the tricks were absolutely not tolerated, and he would see that they were taken care of – fresh bed linens, medical care, clothing. Lily knew from personal experience just how lucky these girls were.

The hellhole that Dick and Lew had pulled her out of still haunted her nightmares.

She still awoke from time to time, damp from sweat, chest heaving to think that she'd find herself back in that flea-ridden, rank backroom at the Diamond Saloon. Still bruised and sore from her last trick, sticky from his cum, and packed in a too-small bed with soiled bedsheets along with the other girls. But when her head cleared and she realizes she's in her own bed, in her own room, alone, clean, warm, and safe…the overwhelming relief brings her to tears every time.

A comfortable silence had fallen in the kitchen as she whisked up the bowl of eggs and flipped the bacon. Dick had always been careful and quiet when discussing the girls. He didn't like the more common names – painted ladies, soiled doves, women of the evening – so it was just easier to call them the girls. And while Lily wasn't quite a madam in the traditional sense, she did see directly to them, while overseeing the more domestic aspects of the saloon. Most days, she likened her role to what being a housekeeper and a ladies' maid must feel like.

"Thank you, Dick. Really. I know Ginny is grateful. And I know I've told you before, but…felt like saying it again." She didn't look over at him, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable.

"Well, as I've told you before - it's the very least that any decent person should do."

"Then I guess there just aren't enough of those."

"Aren't enough of who?" A drowsy voice, still rough from sleep joined the conversation from the kitchen doorway, catching her attention. She offered a smile at Carwood as he walked towards the stove, shrugging the last strap of his suspenders over his right shoulder.

"Morning," Dick said, "Lily here was just saying how there aren't enough decent people in the world."

Carwood hummed, lips lifting to an amused smile as reached for the coffee kettle. "Decent people like yourself?"

"I mean decent people like Dick. And you. Unlike the rest of your rabble." She ribbed playfully, pulling down a stack of plates from the shelf over the worktable. Angling the spatula, she lifted the first piece of bacon from the pan, grease dripping freely from the ends.

"If you're including me in Dick's company, then I'm truly honored."

"You're already part of my Company." Dick said with the hint of a smile. "Rough night last night?"

"Not particularly. It was just late. But quiet." Carwood paused for a sip of coffee. "The house looked to have a good take. I'll get to truing up the numbers after breakfast."

"Leave it for Nix to handle. I have an errand in Smithville this morning, and I'll need your help."

"Yes, sir. Then, I'll see to horses - "

"That bacon smells like heaven." Scuffing footsteps accompanied the familiar voice that had been so absent. "The whole bedroom smells good enough to eat. Please say I can have some now."

"Welcome back, George." Dick's warm greeting, intermixed with Carwood's filled the kitchen as she picked up another piece of bacon, letting the grease run back into the pan before adding it to the pieces already on the plate.

She handed it over, smiling at Luz's boyish grin that aged him down at least ten years. "Eggs'll be ready in a bit. But be careful - might burn yourself."

"A small price to pay after three months of trail grub. Thanks, Lils. You're a real peach."

She shook her head, lips pursing in faint annoyance. "Don't let Ginny hear you say that. Go sit so I can finish this."

"What time did you ride in?" Carwood asked. "I sacked out around two."

"It was closer to three when I left the livery."

"You can go back to bed, if you want." Dick said.

"Not when the bedroom smells so good and I haven't eaten anything this good in months." Luz's words were half formed around the bacon in his mouth.

Dick chuckled softly. "How'd it go?"

"All's well and done. Another one in the books for Easy."

She lifted more bacon from the skillet, turning towards the table with a fresh plate in time to see Luz reach inside his pants pocket and pull out a rough, weathered envelope that looked fairly thick. She reached across the table as Carwood looked up, accepting the plate with a quiet murmur of thanks. The envelope went sliding across the tabletop just as Carwood pulled the plate back and tucked in.

"That's all of it." Luz started again as Dick reached forward, lifting the envelope flap. "Didn't even let ol' sticky fingers himself touch it." He sounded so proud.

"Ron's never once shorted me." Dick sounded distracted, likely thumbing through the bills in the envelope. "In fact, he usually pays interest."

"Nah, he's not that generous." Luz talked through another mouthful. "He's just trying to buy you off before he does something so bad that you'll have to save his ass."

"Where is he?" Carwood joined in. "I didn't see him sacked out up there."

"No, he didn't come back with me. He rode north. Towards the ol' Strothers Brothers mine. Said he'd be back in three days."

"Can't say I'm surprised." Dick said, looking up to see her hand him another plate of bacon. "Thanks, Lils. With the marshal service capturing the Pueblo Desperadoes rather suddenly, their rumored hideout at the abandoned mine is probably ripe for the picking."

Luz chuckled. "He just can't resist."

Carwood sighed around a bite. "It will get him in trouble day."

"Course it will," Luz agreed, "just don't put me out on the trail with him when it does finally catch up to him. I refuse to get caught in the crossfire."

"None of us gets to choose when the devil comes calling, George." There was a light reprimand in Dick's voice. "But we watch each other's backs."

"Yes, sir. Of course, I wouldn't let anyone take Sparky from us without a fight."

"Well, when he does get back," Dick said, words wrapped around a bite, "we'll have to tell him that he missed a darn good breakfast. Lily here thought to treat you two on your return with bacon and eggs. It's been nothing but oatmeal or cream of wheat around here for the last couple of weeks."

She turned, waving the spatula defensively. "I told you, it's far more rib-sticking."

"Except that Nixon cleaned out half the supply of brown sugar just to make it suit his taste." The reproachful shake of Carwood's head echoed in his words. "Westin charges a fair penny for brown sugar."

For all the responsibilities that she had, she was grateful someone else did the major provisioning and managed the money. She would gladly cook, clean, mend and tend, but her figuring skills didn't go beyond simple purchases - like the bacon and eggs - and even that had come courtesy of Lew.

"Speaking of brown sugar," she said, "we're also running low on flour, but I should have just enough for cobbler tonight. With peaches, I'm thinking. There was a fresh wagonload outside Westin's yesterday."

"Bacon? Peach cobbler?" Luz settled back in his chair, chewing contently. "Just so you know, Mr. Winters, sir – with food this good, I'm like to never leave again."

Lily turned with another wave of her spatula. "Well, you ain't like to see food this good again for awhile. Homecomings are only worth celebrating."

"Oh, but we still got Ronnie-boy's homecoming to celebrate." Luz grinned. "Just don't send me out again until I can enjoy his homecoming treats."

Dick frowned across the table. "I hope you didn't call him 'Ronnie-boy' out there."

Luz's answering grin wasn't exactly reassuring.

Lip shook his head, a combination of surprise and scolding across his features. "No wonder he rode out for the old mine. I'd need some time away from you, too."

She chuckled with a shake of head, wiping her hands on her apron as she reached for an empty bacon plate.

Yes, indeed. This was her favorite time of the day.

* * *

 _Seven Years Ago_

The faint odor of smoke clung to everything. Clothing; tent canvas; leather saddles. Even the gritty excuse for coffee tasted like something straight out of a chimney. But maybe that was just because the smell was so ingrained in Dick's nose hairs after chasing it across the plains for nine days.

Nine days of pursuit without end, chasing the native indian war party westward across the plains with only a burning trail left behind to follow. His cavalry unit had been slow to muster after the last raid on Crooked Bend. Too slow. And it had given the war party a substantial advantage on distance. But Colonel Sink insisted that they persist in their hunt.

Privately, Dick was starting to take issue with the expense. The natives had learned how to best slow down the cavalry forces – burn the grass in the fields, the horses will starve, and the pursuit will fail. Nine days in, and Dick didn't care to remember how many horses had already been expended. It did nothing good for morale, and contempt was at an all time high.

That was even before the rains set in. Before the wild flames were reduced to smoking embers, before the charred plains were turned into a muddy, soggy mess. And yet their orders were to continue the pursuit unabated. As a Major in the cavalry ranks, Dick had to stand for it and rally his men. As his own person, Dick had to keep his thoughts in reserve.

He continued his stroll around the outskirts of the encampment, boots slogging and slurping through the thick mud. They weren't in any imminent danger of an attack, but Dick just couldn't sit still. A general air of riotous anxiety had been growing amongst the men, and frankly – between that and the putrid swampy, smoky smell that lingered – he had wanted a little distance. Some space and fresher air to think.

He rounded a tent, noting a stack of chuckwagon crates and Nix leaning against them, flask open. Dick wasn't surprised when Nix came over to join him. The other man's presence had always been strangely soothing. They were both so different, yet they had taken an instant liking to each other. More than just a liking if Dick were to be entirely honest. But that was a new realm with implications that he didn't dare linger on.

"I think it's clearing up." Nix said. "You think it's clearing it?"

"No."

"I think it's clearing up." Nix took a swig from his flask. "How are your men?"

"They'll be fine."

Nix pocketed his flask with a soft sigh, checking a passing glance to his pocket watch. "5:00 in New York. 4:00 in Chicago. Civilized places for civilized men."

"Should've been born earlier, Nix."

"What, and give up all this?" He looked over, reaching to light a cigarette and catching Dick's small smirk. "We'll go to Chicago. I'll take you there."

"Yeah. We'll see." Dick answered noncommittally. "I've almost got a mind to keep going west."

Nix looked out towards the charred, smoky horizon. "Sure, I can see the appeal."

"Can you?" He raised a skeptical brow. "I always figured you'd pack up back east when this was all over."

"I already know how that would play out." Nix took an inhale from his cigarette. "I don't need to risk a second failed marriage quite so soon. I'm more surprised at you, guts and glory. Continuing the westward charge, instead of returning to the family farm."

"There's plenty of land out west. Maybe not for farming but…someone has to be able to help these people, Nix."

"Who exactly are you talking about?"

"All of them – everyone. Whoever needs it, regardless. The people who have their land burned for no just cause; people who are forced from their homes without reason; people starved from their claims over diverted water rights."

"Helping the victims of injustice, you mean? Where it's not quite illegal to bring a deputized representative of the law into it, but it's still a wrong to be righted?"

Dick sighed. "The western territories are such a jumble of informal and annexed, and soon-to-be annexed, and wilderness. Officially, US laws don't even carry over to the land we're standing on right now. I know they're working on making it official, but that's why we're here first."

"And you think there's a business to be made of it? Have you considered the marshal service or the Pinkerton Agency might take offense to such a venture?"

"I don't plan on going that public with it. But help will always be available to those who need it."

"How will people know that?"

Dick scuffed at a mud clod with his boot. "Still working on the particulars."

"Well, we're going to need a front business." Dick tried to ignore the burst of affectionate warmth in his chest on Nix's use of the word 'we'. "How about a saloon? Lots of foot traffic. Booze loosens lips most of the time. Faro's an easy way to turn some money."

"I was hoping for something a little more…upstanding." He shot Nix a chiding glance, but there was nothing in his voice to support it. "But I can see the usefulness. Drinking and gambling one's troubles away seems common enough. We'll have to consider it further."

"We, hmm?"

"Well, one of us has to have a keen head for business."

"Don't look at me. I can probably help with start-up capital, though."

Dick wasn't going to mention his own savings yet. Meager as it would be compared to whatever gold-lined pockets Nix was offering. But if this was actually going to become a reality when they left this burnt mud pit behind, then they could spend hours sorting out the details. But what had been little more than a dream in Dick's mind for the better part of a year now suddenly seemed more real than ever before. And with Nix at his side?

What wouldn't they be able to do?

"It's just that easy, hm?" Nix mused, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Just that easy."

"Well then, there's the name – Easy Company."


	3. June

"Son of a bitch." The curse issued from Lew on another bone-rattling clap of thunder that shook the walls and floor of the saloon. The bottles and glassware clinked and clanked in telltale warning as glass hurricanes rattled against their metal lantern cages.

"Nothing's broken yet." Carwood reassured, not glancing up from his efforts to tally the night's take.

Lew looked around skeptically as another flash of lightning lit the place. "No one's luck holds out forever."

Lily exhaled a cloud of smoke on the answering, deafening rumble as she watched Carwood work through the numbers at the bar. "Would it make you feel better if we pull down all the bottles for the rest of the night?"

Lew didn't pause his movements wiping down the bar, but she saw the corner of his mouth tick up in recognition of her concern.

Impossibly, over the driving rain, a sigh sounded from the petite blond woman who stood behind Lily. "This weather's got me wanting a ghost story." Ginny said, her tone petulant as she stepped out of her heeled boots. "Does anybody want a ghost story?"

Alice, the lithe brunette next to Lily at the bar, couldn't hold back a gasp. "Not at all. I won't sleep a wink as it is if this keeps up."

"If only that theatre man had asked you to marry him yestereve." Elmira, a buxom brunette, teased as she stepped out of her own heeled boots next to Ginny. "Then maybe we wouldn't have to listen to you whining about the storms all night."

"I've no shame to admit it." Alice returned, a sting of offense in her tone. "I don't like the thunder. It's scary."

Lew reached behind the bar for the nearest bottle and a handful of glasses. "Have a drink, then. Calms the nerves. It'll put you right to sleep."

"Pour out four, Lew." Lily said with a smile before taking another drag on her cigarette. "We could all use it after a down night like tonight."

"Six." He corrected, looking slyly over his shoulder as he poured. "Come on, Lip. Don't make us drink alone here."

"You're hardly alone." Carwood said, his tone distracted even as he looked up with a placating smile. "And no, thank you."

"I admire that, Mr. Lipton." Ginny batted her eyes at him. "Drinkin' can turn the nicest of men into scoundrels. And I would just hate to see you go that way."

"Speaking of scoundrels," Elmira interjected, resting a hand against the swell of her backside, "I got a pinching so bad tonight, I'm like to have a bruise."

Alice giggled as Lew pushed the filled glasses forward. "Serves you right. With all that wiggling you were doing for that team of Wells Fargo drovers."

Another kaboom of thunder threatened to shake the saloon apart as Elmira and Ginny stepped up to the bar for their glasses.

"Well, it was such a slow night," Elmira started, "I had to do something to keep them here and keep them spending." She tipped the glass back, knocking the whiskey down in a smooth pull as Lily watched the other girls upend their glasses.

"Yulch." Alice grimaced on the finish, forehead wrinkled in disgust as she coughed. "I still can't make myself like whiskey."

"Well, it's not for everyone." Lily said, knocking her own glass back. The burn of the liquor mixed pleasantly with the lingering smoke on her taste buds.

"Which just leaves more for the rest of us." Lew teased, tipping his glass back. He licked his lips, setting the empty glass down and reaching for the sixth one. "You sure, Lip?"

"I'm sure."

"Well, if I thought you'd say yes, I wouldn't have asked." He raised the glass, downing the contents just as smoothly as the first. Lily couldn't help a small smile as she took another hit of smoke.

Over the years, she'd learned a lot about Lewis Nixon. The most obvious was his proclivity for drinking whiskey. Always whiskey, but bourbon specifically. She knew the saloon didn't stock bourbon for the patrons, so Lew had to slum it on the nights he worked the bar. But his personal flask, always topped with the good stuff, was never far out of reach.

"Goddammit." Elmira's curse over another clap of thunder brought her back to the soggy night. "These new boots have given me four blisters tonight. Shit, look – that's one about to burst."

"Ew," Ginny said, "at least once it does, the hurt goes away faster. Mine from two weeks ago are just about gone."

Lily stubbed out the end of her cigarette. "Just take care that they don't fester. Else, I'll have to get Doc Mul in here."

"Don't you dare." Ginny's tone sharpened. "That man causes more pain than healing."

"The healing happens after." Lew chided, taking away the dirty glasses and bottle. "And Lily'll do what she must to take care of you. That's what we pay her for."

"Among other things." Elmira stooped over to retrieve her boots. "I'm heading up. It'll take me a while to sleep with all this racket."

"Y'all should go on, too." Lily said with an encouraging smile to Alice and Ginny. "There'll likely be quite the rush tomorrow night."

A chorus of goodnights went up around the room as the three women took to the stairs. Despite Dick's general references to them as 'the girls', they were all somewhere in their early twenties. Hell Lily, herself, was twenty-five and felt positively old by comparison. But the last six years under Dick and Lew's care had easily been the best years of her life.

She didn't appreciate Elmira's parting dig, though. There was nothing untoward about what she was paid for here. She had been promised that she'd never have to suck cock or open her legs for money again, and that promise had yet to be broken.

Lew's gaze caught hers, a hint of melancholy lurking in his dark eyes beneath the casual charisma that he wore like a second skin. "Don't go yet, Lils." He said softly, swinging the open bottle back around, lining up two more glasses. "Knock back a few more with me. I'm behind for the night."

Skeptically, she watched him pour. With the slower saloon traffic, he'd had plenty of time to keep up and she'd seen him already indulge several times tonight.

"We had a decent take." Lip said quietly, closing up the lock box with a sigh and closing the ledger. "But I'm going to pack it in before the numbers on the page start swirling around. Don't have too much fun, now." He offered a smile in farewell, a knowing edge in his gaze as he looked between them before ascending the stairs.

She reached down to her full glass, picking it up as another flash of lightning lit the room, thunder booming in its wake. "What'll we drink to?"

"How about to Thor, the god of thunder."

She squinted at him in confusion. "Did you just make that up?"

"No." He laughed with a mocking edge. "That's Yale education at it's finest."

"Well…then, to Thor." Their glasses met with a clink before each downed the brown liquid. He moved to refill just as soon as her hand hit the bar top. "Again?" The warmth of the previous two drinks seeped through her limbs, making her sleepy in the early morning hour. Goodness, it had to be well past 2 am by now.

He looked up to her with a smile that attempted levity but looked more lonely than not. "Can't quit on me now."

She picked up her drink with a sad tilt of her lips, watching him knock his back without a toast before she gulped down the rough liquor. A fuzz grew in her head and she leveled him with a determined look as he hovered with the bottle. "No more, Lew. Come on. There are better things to do."

xxx

The first night she spent with Lew was an accident. He had simply been too deep in his cups to rightly remember which door lead to his room and he collapsed against the bed without realizing she was in it. But he was a good bedmate, sleeping peacefully and deeply. She didn't have the heart to wake him the following morning, but she marveled at the softness of his hair as she brushed it back with a kiss to his brow. When he did finally emerge from her room, eyes bloodshot but otherwise rested, no one said a word.

The second night, Dick was away and the others had retired, leaving her and Lew as the last two to come up the stairs. He invited her into his room for a nightcap. And no, not the bedtime garment. She had no reason not to be frank with him, and he seemed to find that pleasing and refreshing in equal measure as they sat against the headboard of his bed, passing a bottle between them. Next thing she knew, she woke up with her head against his shoulder, curled against him in the darkness. She still doesn't know if she woke him or if he was already awake, but when his lips touched hers, she knew it was the first time she actually wanted a man's kiss.

In fact, it was the first time she had honestly wanted any of it, and he coaxed her through all of it. Encouraged her to voice everything she felt. Encouraged her to be true and just feel. Encouraged her to let him so completely devour her without fear of cost or reciprocation. She had never genuinely clutched a man so close in pleasure as she did when Lew moved in her, her high-pitched moans stoking his urgent need.

He said he honestly couldn't believe it. Even as the lay afterwards in the early morning hour, passing the previously abandoned bottle, and she told him the truth. How she was taught to prepare her body to receive a man's without any help; how her madam told her that sex would always hurt if she hadn't readied herself. That men were never to be depended upon for any pleasure.

The next day, she wasn't out of bed the until well after noon.

But from that night on, she never really knew what she would get with Lew when he knocked on her door in the late night hour. His moods were so variable. Sometimes, it was light and he could make her giggle like none other as his silver tongue worked to make her melt. Other times, he'd lost himself in self-loathing melancholy at the bottom of a bottle and he was just looking for something to take him out of his head.

And sometimes, she thinks that he doesn't even see her at all. He would hold her so tender, rocking gently against her, eyes shut tight as he panted against her neck. It must be what making love feels like, she guesses. For the better part of a year, she wondered who he was thinking about - who he loved.

But then she saw it. Both Dick and Lew were stooped over the bar top, looking at something on the surface. All she could see were their curved backs and the barely-there press of their shoulders. Suddenly, Dick raised his head and turned towards Lew with a little smile, pride in his expression. Lew raised his head - and for all the world, the tension in the room spiked. He only had to lean in to feel Dick's lips against his own, and something in their shared gaze felt so raw. Instead, he finally broke to look back at the bar top, raising a hand to fold whatever was laid out. He slid the paper over in front of Dick, moving his hand to Dick's shoulder in a farewell squeeze as he pocketed the paper and moved for the door.

It was almost another month before Lew knocked on her door and she had the chance to ask. At first, she worried that she'd ruined everything by guessing wrong and upsetting him. But then, his defenses fell away and three vulnerable words slipped out.

Yes. It is.

She made a promise to him then and there - that he could always come to her. It's better than drinking himself to an early grave over it. That even though it may never be socially acceptable, she knows it's real. That she would never judge him for what he says, what he feels.

Or if he moans the wrong name.

* * *

"Will Mr. Winters let you plant a garden yet?" Mrs. McClure asked with a kind smile as Lily handed over the collection of coins. She was one of the few women in the community that hadn't outright dismissed Lily as an irredeemable painted lady. Of course, that had been further helped when Dick became an upstanding member of the Bluewater Church.

"He would like if we had a garden. I did try a couple years ago – before I started coming to you – but it didn't take."

"That's a shame." Mrs. McClure nodded politely. "Though, I suppose I shouldn't push it too far – I do appreciate your business."

"Yes, ma'am. I wouldn't go anywhere else for vegetables." Lily matched the polite nod, hefting the basket of squash, tomatoes and peppers. "Thank you. And I know that Mr. Winters thanks you, too."

"Yes, Miss Martin. He thanks me at the Sunday services. Always such a gentleman."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You know that you are always invited to attend services with him. Miss Alice Sampson always behaves very decorously during the service when she accompanies him."

"Thank you for the invitation. I'll be sure to speak with Mr. Winters about it."

"I hope that you do."

She nodded politely, hefting the basket again. "I mustn't keep you. Thank you again, Mrs. McClure."

The older woman waved her off modestly and she started down the small path from the McClures that lead back to the main part of town. The carpenter and his wife lived on the edge of Bluewater near a creek that always trickled peacefully. It was really a nice setting that stirred up a envious pang whenever she visited. What would life be like to be married and so well settled? A respected pillar of the community? She had spent her whole life on the fringes, but how did one go about trying to better themselves?

By attending Sunday services? Was that the measure of quality in this town? Was that why Mr. Winters was more highly spoken of than Mr. Nixon, despite them both owning the Easy Saloon?

A gust of wind caught the bottom of her skirt and her stray curls as she rounded the corner back onto the main street. At least the breeze this morning was fresh, bringing a crisp sharpness from up the valley. She'd gone off and left every window open in the backroom kitchen to let as much of the cool air in. Without it, the heat of the afternoon sun would be unbearable. Hopefully, she would be able to get back in time to enjoy the cool kitchen as she prepared the bread for dinner. But there was one last stop to make.

She stepped onto the boardwalk, spying a familiar figure exit the freight office. A most dashing, if stern, familiar figure. Tall and rangy, with a stiff posture to boot that only added to his height. He must have paid an early morning visit to the bathhouse as his hair was neatly coiffed under his hat, his jaw cleanly shaven, and his shirt looked fresh. But lord a'mercy, the sight of Ron Speirs in the morning light was such a sight for sore eyes.

She couldn't help her warm smile and the fluttering race of her heart as he walked over. "Good morning, Mr. Speirs. Welcome back." It was one thing to be on familiar terms with the men of Easy within the walls of the saloon, but it was another thing entirely to be so familiar out in the street.

He tipped his head in greeting. "Good morning, Miss Martin." He looked to the laden basket in her hand. "What are you about this morning?"

"I've just finished at Mrs. McClure's for vegetables, and have one last stop to make." She offered a polite smile, glancing around the street self-consciously. "What of yourself?"

"The livery. The manager was already asleep when I arrived this morning."

"This morning," she teased with a light air, "on around 2 am, you mean."

His brow raised ever so subtly. "Apologies if I woke you coming up the stairs."

She couldn't keep the coy smile from her face. His movements had indeed woken her up – but only once he was in the common room next to hers. She didn't understand how Lip and Roe had slept through his heavy bootfalls and the thunk of the headboard against the wall as he'd finally settled into bed. None of it had done anything to lull her back to sleep, instead fueling her mind with thoughts for what tonight could bring.

"No apologies needed." She took a small step, pleased to see him match it and slowly fall into step alongside her. "I trust you had a good stop at the fright office."

"Good enough, yes. Mr. Lipton had a couple of letters he wished to post."

She tilted her head curiously. "Where is Mr. Lipton? I heard that you both set out from the saloon early this morning."

"We did, but we ran into someone unexpected."

"Oh?"

"Yes. So, I left him pitching woo to the school teacher."

She giggled softly. "That is sweet. I do hope that he asks her for at least one dance at the upcoming Fourth of July Festival." She didn't really expect Ron to echo the sentiment, but the scowl on his face was slightly surprising. "You…you don't approve?"

"I have no inclinations on how Mr. Lipton chooses to conduct his personal affairs, so long as they don't make me a privy third-party."

"Oh, come now. Don't you believe in love stories?"

He cocked a wry eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Yes, I want to." She forced herself to look ahead. "It's such a wonderful thought to think that love is a real thing. And if Mr. Lipton thinks he can find that with Miss Cartwright, then I think it's grand." She'd known very little of love in the years since her father's death, and the thought that she could one day share such feelings with a man was indeed an exciting thought. Especially if she could share them with the man who currently walked beside her.

"Love can be a powerful force," he conceded. "It's felled some of the most powerful men in history."

"Like Napoleon?" She looked over, seeking confirmation in the profile of his face and finding none. "Oh, no. Not like Napoleon."

"No, not like Napoleon."

"Oh, who was it…," she trailed off, trying to run through all the various names that she'd heard from him over the years. "Tertius? No, not him – he lopped off heads. Oh! It was the one who married the Egyptian queen."

"Marc Antony never married Cleopatra."

"But they had multiple children and he divorced his roman wife so he could be with her."

"Among other things."

For being intensely private about himself, he was remarkably free with sharing the stories of others from the annals of history. It was something she had always enjoyed when he was of a mind – listening to the sound of his voice recounting a tale of glory and woe from someone of an age past. There were so many stories - hell, she marveled he could remember them all. He seemed to have a particular penchant for the stories of the Roman Empire, and for the life of her, she couldn't keep half the names straight. Especially when every ruler was named Caesar. How confusing.

She stepped off the boardwalk to cross the alleyway. "Are you on shift tonight?"

"I haven't spoken with Mr. Winters yet. Mr. Lipton thinks it likely I'll be sent back out."

"So soon?" The note of sadness in her voice showed on her face as she glanced over at him. She had really hoped that he would be around for a while.

"You know what we do. And why."

Her heart sank as she knew he was right. Solving the problems of others was seldom convenient. And really, she ought to be ashamed of herself. Getting her hopes up at the expense of others' continued misfortune when he was no more beholden to her than anyone else.

"No, I understand." She said at length. "It's just that I think you deserve to be spoiled a little more between jobs – with a roof over your head, a real bed. Hot food daily."

"Those will just have to be my rewards for a job completed." That answer didn't surprise her. He had only ever shown himself to be pragmatic.

"As always." She offered a soft smile, stopping outside the inconspicuous building with the small sign that read 'Doctor's Services'.

His eyes pinched with curious concern. "Are you unwell?"

"No, I'm quite well, thank you. I just need to resupply herbs."

"I see." The corner of his mouth ticked up in what she knew to be the closest thing she would get to a smile as he inclined his head. "Good day, Miss Martin. I will see you later."

"Yes. Thank you for the company, Mr. Speirs." She nodded in farewell before he turned and continued on down the boardwalk.

She wondered if playing nice and formal in the streets bothered him. Surely, he had to see all the pleasantries and formal addresses as a waste of time. But if he did, he never showed it. In fact, he adopted it rather smoothly. Not as smoothly as Lew, who wore his silver spoon eastern upbringing with proper charisma for all to see. But it still made her wonder at Ron Speirs' upbringing.

The door to Dr. Mulberry's office opened with its usual squeaky hinge, admitting the smell of cloves and burning cedar. She called out a greeting, watching as the older gentleman came around the corner of his office into the main room.

"Good morning, Miss Martin." His voice was rough with age but pleasant enough. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, sir. I need to buy some more herbs."

The man's mouth upturned with disapproval. "Why don't you girls just get married? Then you wouldn't need this stuff and could conceive naturally. The way God intended you to."

She fought back a sigh, instead choosing not to respond. It was a discussion that she'd had multiple times with Dr. Mulberry over the years. He never failed to hide his personal disapproval over their presence in the saloon, or make it known that he only tended to the girls at the direct request of Mr. Winters.

He moved for his shelf of stores, pulling down a large jar. "How about you, hmm? You still regularly with your moons?"

"Yes."

"No unusual discharge or swelling?"

"No." She couldn't help but bristle at the questions. Before him, no one had ever pried so much into her bodily wellness. Not even in her former place of employ with so many men inside her daily. And now that it wasn't even a weekly occurrence? Well, she knew the humors of her own body better than he did.

Mulberry sighed again, another condescending sound, but he pushed the two small satchels forward. "Here. Pennyroyal and cohosh. Steeped in hot water every day will help you."

"Thank you." She already knew the instructions. He gave them to her every time she came in to resupply. "How much do I owe you?"

He waved a wrinkled hand dismissively. "I'll take it out of Mr. Winters' line of credit. He ought to see what all he's buying with his money."

"I'm sure he's already aware." She kept the words polite, but there was a bite to her tone and pinched smile as she stepped up to gather the satchels. "I'll let him know to expect it."

The doctor nodded, startling to shuffle out from behind the counter. "Another thing – that Ginny's tooth. Has she complained of any more discomfort?"

"I haven't heard of any. But she does wince when she eats, even though she tires to hide it."

Mulberry sighed, nodding his head as if he already knew the answer. "That tooth needs to be extracted. It's only going to pain her worse and risk infecting the rest of her teeth."

"I know you told her that on your last visit, but she still hasn't agreed to it."

"She's only making it worse for herself."

"She's afraid," Lily simply said. "She knows it'll hurt more in the short run, even though it'll be less hurt in the long run. And that's enough to stop her from agreeing." She fixed Mulberry with a wary gaze. "But if you think it's serious enough, I can take it up with Mr. Winters."

"It's serious."


	4. July Part I

The saloon looked full to bursting tonight. Perhaps the spell of cool rain had put everyone in the mood for games and booze; or maybe the summer heat had just driven everyone into a frenzy. No matter the reason, Lily wasn't about to complain. With her last wink, she tucked another gold coin away into the security of her bosom. She didn't always choose to work the floor, but she'd felt in the mood tonight. And if Lew happened to point out that her moods to work the floor often coincided with the nights that Ron worked the bar, then so be it. Ron didn't know how often she did or didn't work the floor while he was out on the trail.

"Come on, my purdy butterfly lady – kiss these'ere chips for luck." The red-bearded man stared up at her beaming smile as she bent at the waist, affording him a clear view down the front of her low-cut dress. The man hollered an excited whoop as she puckered her lips, pressing a kiss to the top chip of the stack in his hand. "Oh yes, ma'am – I got lady luck on my side tonight!"

"Yes, sir. I done my best."

"I got a good feeling, my l'il butterfly."

She giggled at the nickname, much to the man's delight. "Then you best not waste it!"

The man turned back to the table, laying out his chips on the cards of his choice. His other hand was occupied around her waist, holding her close to his side.

"New player coming up!" Bill Guarnere, the table banker, had an unmistakable Eastern drawl that he refused to lose. "Place your bets! Place your chips! See if you got what it takes to beat me!"

"You know it, sonny." The bearded man let loose a playful howl, tightening his hold to pull Lily in closer to his side. "With this lucky butterfly, I can't lose!"

"You chose wisely, sir." Bill encouraged. "Lily's the luckiest gal here tonight." He winked up at her and she nodded ever so subtly. Bill was a master at sleight of hand when he wanted to be. She knew that he would stack the deck for a couple of hands, really build up this man's confidence before starting to bleed him dry. Bill had done it countless times, all while keeping the trick at the table – engaged and entertained. That's probably why Dick liked him so much.

She laid a hand on the trick's shoulder in silent support as Bill laid out the cards, calling the numbers and suits to various hurrahs and guffaws around the table. And just as she expected, the trick with his arm around her waist came out way in front.

"Winner! We got a hot one over here!" Bill drawled, lazy and excited. "Be careful, sir, or you're liable to milk this place clean."

The trick hollered his excitement. "I just might, son! The night is young and I'm just getting started."

"Then, challenge accepted, my good man. What's your name, partner?"

"Call me Mervin. No – better'n that – call me Rockefeller.

"Ohh, yes'ir." Bill smirked with a laugh. "Gonna buy the man's railroad interests after you wipe me out here?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me!" The so-called Rockefeller looked up to her with a big smile. "Say, butterfly, how about you go get us some whiskey?"

She moved the hand from his shoulder up to caress his cheek lightly, watching his eyes darken in the low light. "Capital idea, Mr. Rockefeller. Shots or a bottle?"

"Hell, a bottle. I ain't gonna let luck this good get away from me."

"Then a bottle it is." She ran her index finger down the slope of his nose, playfully catching the end with her nail. "Wait for me?"

"Yes ma'am!" She giggled on his enthused response, removing herself from his arm to start walking for the bar. "You know, banker, that gal is the prettiest – you ever seen one look like a butterfly before…"

The rest of Rockefeller's words were swallowed up as she moved through the other tables and general din of the saloon. She didn't really think her dress of deep plum with dark green and light blue accents really made her look like a butterfly, but if it got Rockefeller to spend his money, then he could call her whatever he wanted. Her job was to create atmosphere, after all – a respite from the outside world of toil in this here oasis of booze, cards, and lavish affection.

She neared the bar, offering smiles to the different patrons that caught her gaze. Ron stood at the opposite corner, pulling the cork out of a brown bottle and splashing liquid down into a neat row of shot glasses. He said something to the man on the other side of the counter, offering a short shake of his head, lips quirked. Ron never did quite look comfortable with his front of the house duties. As private a man as he was, he probably felt too exposed. But still he pulled his shifts, same as every other member of Easy.

Maybe it was just her, but he looked notably good tonight. The striped shirt he wore beneath his dark gray vest looked new. His black long tie was tied neat at his throat, matching the black sleeve garters resting just above his elbows to keep his shirt cuffs dry. His hair had been combed neat into place before he started, but a few strands had come loose with time and exertion, sweeping rebelliously across his forehead. She'd always enjoyed running her hands through his thick hair, mussing it beyond any semblance of respectability.

Oh, what she wouldn't give to peel him out of all his layers tonight.

He caught her eye with a small nod as he pushed the full glasses forward, reaching out to accept payment. With a quick motion, he tossed the coins in the lockbox behind the bar and walked over towards her.

"What'll it be?" He asked, all serious business. It always brought a smile to her face to have his attention.

"A bottle of whiskey for my trick at Bill's table." She nodded over her shoulder, another whooping call of victory rising up.

"Sounds like a rowdy one." He reached to the back shelf for a new, unopened bottle.

"He's an alright sort. Confident. Calls me his butterfly."

His mouth tightened with the barest hint of concealed disgust as he set the bottle down between them. "So long as he follows the rules."

"You know I won't let him get away with anything less. Thanks for the bottle."

"Hey, barkeep! Fuck'er later – we're thirsty!" The boisterous call rose up from down the length of the bar, a flash of annoyance and forced amusement catching in Ron's eyes.

She winked as she pulled back from the bar, bottle in hand. It didn't take her long to thread back through the crowd, back to the thick-set Rockefeller.

"There ya are, butterfly!" Rockefeller's voice boomed over the din as she approached. "I was beginning to think that mean lookin' fella behind the bar had stolen you from me."

"Never." She reassured him, stepping up close and returning her unoccupied hand to his shoulder. "Why would I ever stay with someone so mean lookin' when I've got such better company right here? Your bottle, sir."

He took the bottle with a wide smile. "I'm thinking I'll hafta change my winged name for you from butterfly to angel." He tipped the bottle towards her in acknowledgement before taking a big pull. He smacked his lips with an exhale on the finish, holding it up to her. "Come on now, angel – don't make me drink alone."

"Very generous of you, sir." She wrapped her hand around his, again bending to afford him a good view as she took the rim of the bottle between her lips. She took a quick sip, licking her lips languorously. "Is the table still treatin' you right?"

"More'n right! Isn't that right, fella?"

"You wouldn't believe it, Lils." Bill said with a shake of his head. "Mr. Rockefeller here's nearly got me over a barrel. I'll be out on the street corner at this rate for dealing cards this favorably."

"My goodness!" She looked to Rockefeller with a twinkling smile. "Well, if that's the case, maybe I'll just hafta come work for you, Mr. Rockefeller."

"I wouldn't say no, ma'am!"

"Place your bets! Lay your chips!" Bill's call went up, and chips poured in from around the table. Rockefeller's arm slid back around her waist, pulling her in close as he took another swig of whiskey.

The cards were laid and played, the man's victory hoot jarring her as he celebrated another win. She wondered if he noticed that as he won his biggest bet, he also lost his two smaller bets. Probably not, what with the way Bill was carrying out about his win. But that's what made Bill so good at his job – he collected the house takings so smoothly, only focusing on the trick's winnings. He had found his true calling as a faro dealer.

"Got a hot streak! Got a winner!" Bill pulled the cards back in to shuffle again.

"I like the sound of that!" Rockefeller said through a hearty laugh, tipping the bottle back. "With m'angel at my side, I can't lose."

"Did I hear hot streak winner?" Lip's calm voice sounded over the din, infused with a warm joviality. They all had roles to play on the floor, and she recognized this as his. Along with the smart waistcoat, adorned with his pocket watch chain, and the smoking cigar held fast in his left hand.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Lip." Bill said amicably, gesturing grandly across the table. "Meet Mr. Rockefeller. Gonna put us out of business soon at this rate."

"Mr. Rockefeller." Lip inclined his head in friendly greeting. "You look different than your picture in the papers."

"I know – I'm so much purdier than those pictures!" The man laughed uproarious at his own joke and Lip offered an appropriate laugh in response, as did Lily.

"Well, we're honored to have you here tonight, sir." Lip said.

"Bets! Place your bets! Any and all takers!" Bill sounded the call, and chips flew in.

"Another kiss, my angel?" Rockefeller held up a stack of four chips, and again she leaned over, bussing her lips over the wood chips to his delightful glee. He laid them down on the table right as Bill sounded his call.

"Turn time! Calling all final bets – call the turn!" He turned the last three cards, revealing an unfortunate selection of suits and numbers to a chorus of disappointed huffs.

"Hmm, that ain't been happenin'." Rockefller said, mouth upturned.

She leaned into this side, stroking his shoulder. "Oh, come now – you've been doing so great. You're not gonna let one little hand slow you down. I know for a fact your luck's been running better than that."

"Parish the thought, angel. I ain't gonna let this table defeat me none!" He pushed back in his chair, setting the bottle down and letting his arm fall from her back. "Keep my seat warm, will you?" He leaned in dangerously close, as if he was going to go for a kiss. "I gotta take a piss."

"I'll be right here when you get back." She made a show of dropping into his chair, wiggling against the seat before he turned to thread through the crowd.

"Break in play, gentlemen." Bill called out. "Break for nature. Break for booze." Slowly, the majority of the crowd assembled at the table started to disperse as Bill lazily shuffled the cards. She reached for the whiskey bottle, taking a quick pull.

"That's not yours." Lip loosely chided.

She snorted, setting the bottle back down. "I know, but he sure as hell doesn't need it. He's riding high enough as it is."

Bill chuckled a wicked little sound. "Doesn't even notice how much he's already lost."

"Don't take him for everything." Lip cautioned.

Bill looked up, affronted. "You know I'd never do that, sarge." Lip hummed noncommittally, taking a puff of his cigar as she chuckled softly. "So, tell me – how's Babe working out?"

"Babe?" Lip asked around the cigar.

"Yeah, the kid. The new kid – Heffron."

"He's doing just fine."

"Just like your nuts, huh?" Bill snickered a laugh that had Lip huffing embarrassedly and Lily furrowing her brow. It must be some joke that she wasn't privy to.

"Yes. Thank you, Bill." Lip said dryly, taking another puff of his cigar.

"When will he start riding out?" Bill asked, plowing ahead.

"Not on the floor."

"Yes, sarge."

"But looks like it could be soon. He and Doc seem well suited."

"Glad to hear it."

Lily rose from her chair with a put-out sigh. "Well, fascinating as this all is, I'm going to get Mr. Rockefeller a glass."

"He'll expect you to still be sitting there when he gets back." Bill said, idly shuffling the cards.

"I know, but he'll be needing a glass for next rounds of play. Better to slow him down and muddle him with more objects flying around the table."

"We'll cover for you if he comes back." Lip offered.

She smiled in thanks. "I'm not going far." She tucked in the empty chair, walking through the tables back towards to the bar. The tables seemed busier than they had earlier, men clustered around, all talking, drinking and smoking.

A hand fell to her arm, right above her elbow, steering her in a turn until she came face to face with someone unfamiliar.

"Hello, there." His words carried a distant hint of eastern upbringing, his bearing presenting full confidence. His face was pleasant enough, she supposed. Not strikingly handsome, but by no means unattractive.

"Howdy there, partner." She looked down to his hand still on her arm, trying to maintain a flirty smile. "Can I help you with something?"

"I'd certainly like it if you could." He said, honey-sweet. "I'd very much like the favor of your company."

"Well, that's mighty nice of you, sir –"

"Marshal."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Well, well…. Marshal, indeed." She looked him over in an obvious appraisal, watching his eyes darken with hunger in response. "You must be quite brave. What's your name, marshal?"

"Dike. You may call me Marshal Dike."

"Of course, Marshal Dike. It's an honor." She bat her lashes at him in a warm, coy greeting. "And I know someone else who would just love the honor of making your acquaintance."

"I'd rather just have you."

"I'm actually helping someone else right now –"

"I didn't realize you were exclusive." Suspicion narrowed his gaze. "Do I just need to pay more to earn your affections?"

"I ain't for sale like that." She tried to pull her arm free from his grasp, fixing him with a hard stare. But his hand tightened on his arm, pulling a small, pained gasp from her before she stilled. He stepped closer and she drew up the length of her spine, refusing to shrink under this taller height.

"Just because you have a pussy, doesn't mean you have to be a cunt." He sneered. "You're here to be warm and accommodating, and so far – you haven't been either of those things."

"I know what I'm here for. If it's warmth and accommodation you're seeking, try a brothel."

He squeezed her arm harder, bringing a wince to her face. "You might want to reconsider. I'm a powerful man." He released her arm with a surprisingly gentle motion. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Excuse me." Lip's voice, strong and sure, cut between them. "Is there a problem here, marshal?"

"No, no problem." Dike swept his gaze curtly away from her. "You might want to remind your lady here to watch where she's going. And to remember her place."

"Thank you, sir." Lip said, voice tight but still pleasant. "I'll see that it's addressed."

"See that you do." The marshal's gaze swept back to her in a dismissive glance before he moved away through the crowd. She released the breath that she didn't know she'd been holding.

"I'm sorry that I didn't see it sooner." Lip said, reaching out tenderly for her arm. She watched his face fall as he studied the bright red skin above her elbow.

"It's fine." She reassured him. "I don't think it'll bruise. And if it does? Well, I've had to conceal worse."

"Not since working here at Easy. I won't stand for this, and Dick certainly won't. What happened?"

"I'll tell you later." She forced her formerly playful smile back in place. "I should probably get back to Mr. Rockefeller's table. Bill can only hold him for so long."

Lip nodded, resigned as he gently let go of her arm. "Did you get the glass you were after?"

"No. I was stopped short."

"Go on, then." He encouraged with a soft smile. "Back to the table. I'll get a glass and come back."

Her playful smile slipped away to reveal something far more warm and affectionate. "Thank you, Carwood."

* * *

 _Six Years Ago_

Carwood Lipton was the first one they met, but it was nearly a year later when he joined the Company.

Fort Kearny was one of many along the Oregon trail. A good place to restock supplies and plan to receive correspondence. Dick, in particular, had been excited about the promise of a letter from home. He didn't voice it, but he did miss seeing his mother regularly. With all the moving around he had done with the cavalry, there hadn't been a steady, reliable steam of letters. But now that he was on his way to settle down, he looked forward to more frequent correspondence.

Even Nix seemed upbeat at the prospect of mail. He'd sent out a few letters of his own before they headed out for the Fort. And now that they had finally arrived, there was little cause for further delay.

Dick looked at the small carte in Nix's arms. "Don't tell me."

He grinned as he set the crate down, handing a letter over to Dick and keeping one for himself. "Only the finest for Mrs. Nixon's baby boy."

Dick looked to the envelope in his hand, tearing it open and pouring over the neatly scrawled hand.

Nix always enjoyed watching the other man's face as he read the fond words. It was marvel that someone actually cared about home and family so much. It opened an ache in Nix's heart to have something so special in his life. Something that could make him smile like that, too.

Dick chuckled softly. "Mother has invited you for the holidays, if you wish."

"You wrote your mother about me?"

"I had to tell her something about my business partner so she wouldn't worry."

"Goodness. You must not have told her too much if she invited me for the holidays."

Dick continued reading. "She expresses her preference for us to be present for the 4th of July Celebration, but she understands if our business needs delay us until Thanksgiving and Christmas."

Nix chuckled, shaking his head. "I feel like I should write her a letter, thanking her."

"I hadn't planned to go back east that soon, but I'll write her."

"How is life on the farm, otherwise?"

"Oh, she's concerned for the upcoming spring season. Apparently, there was a storm last month."

"A storm?" Nix looked over, hesitant curiosity on his face. "How does in a storm in February cause concern for the spring season?"

Dick smiled fondly. "'For every thunderstorm in February, there will be a cold spell in May.'"

Nix met his smile. "Another one of your farmers' sayings?"

"Of course. One that happens to be true, as a matter of fact."

"Aren't all of them?"

"Depends who you ask."

They shared another soft chuckle before Nix looked down at the letter in his hand, frowning at the smudged postmark. "West Virginia?" He ran his thumb over the name and address. The ink had smeared something terrible, but it certainly looked like an L. Nixon.

"Who do you know in West Virginia?" Dick asked.

"No one." Nix tore into the letter with a skeptical brow raised, unfolding the paper to take in the prim handwriting. "Sergeant Carwood Lipton, 101stDivision Cavalry. Dearest Carwood. Please believe me when I tell you….Oh, goodness." Nix stopped reading, swiftly folding the letter as a flush burned high in his cheeks. "I'm afraid Sergeant Lipton is in for a shock when he reads this. I know I was when I received word of my wife ending our marriage."

"That's awful. My heart goes out to Sergeant Lipton."

"Sure." Nix agreed, half-heartedly. "If his marriage was anything like marriage is supposed to be, then sure." He sighed, tapping the folded letter against his other hand. "Guess I better get over to the cavalry outpost."

Dick decided to tag along, much to Nix's enjoyment as he let slip to the lieutenant on duty that Dick was a former cavalry major. That quickly opened the doors of cooperation, and they were shown to a man who had a hearty build with a pleasant face and warm demeanor.

"Good afternoon, sirs."

"Afternoon. Sergeant Lipton?" Nix asked, hesitantly.

"Yes, sir."

"This here's Dick Winters, and I'm Lewis Nixon. Guess the postmaster couldn't read the smudged envelope well enough to know that this wasn't my piece of mail." He held out the soiled, opened envelope. "I, uh...I didn't read the whole thing. Just enough to know that it was not written to me. I apologize profusely – it was not my intention to read into your business."

"It's alright, Mr. Nixon…I. Thank you." He took the letter looking down at it hesitantly, his smile falling to a sad line. "I apologize for any distressing news you may have read."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Nix's brow drew in sympathetically, his lips pinched. "If anything, I feel like I should apologize twice over. I received a similar letter, during my time in the cavalry. It's not easy when we're so far away."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir." A down note sounded on Lipton's words at hearing the letter's contents confirmed. "And I appreciate the sentiment. It isn't easy. But we all do what we have to." He looked to Dick, a polite smile coming to his face. "How about you, sir? Are you former cavalry, too?"

"Yes."

Nix chuckled. "Oh, he'll play modest all damn day, but he was a major when he decommissioned."

"That's a noteworthy achievement, major." Lipton said. "Did you serve in the area?"

"No," Dick said, "our regiment spent a fair bit of time south in Oklahoma Territory and then north in the Dakotas towards the end."

"I have heard the Dakota hills are a sight to behold."

Nix looked to Lipton. "How much longer is your commission?"

"I have almost another year left, sir."

"No thoughts of desertion on such heartbreaking news?"

"No, sir."

"Sarge! Come on!" A voice with a distinctly sharp eastern accent cut through their conversation. A group of corporals stood off to their side, one of whom was looking right at them – a sturdy man who could be called ruggedly handsome. "You're gonna miss mess! Should invite the Quaker and his friend – let's see them stomach good ol' cavalry chow."

Lipton turned, his expression hardening. "That's enough, Gaurnere. Now go on – all of you. I'll be along shortly."

"Sure thing, sarge!" A low chuckle rose up from the group, but the reprimand was well-received as they started to walk off.

Lipton turned back around, his face the solid picture of remorse. "My apologies, sir. They can be a bit rowdy, but they're good men."

"Quaker?" Nix chuckled with a sidelong glance at Dick. "That's a new one."

Dick looked unfazed by the name-calling. "Well, they can't be expected to behave all the time. But they should probably be a little more cautious in calling out people they don't know."

"Yes, sir." Lipton agreed with a nod.

"Speaks to their faith in you that they'll do it so blatantly in front of you."

"It can't all just be about tearing them down. I think it has to be balanced. But that's not always easy to find."

"That sounds like a slur against your leadership, Sergeant."

"Not all COs are created equal, sir." Lip leveled him with an even, assessing gaze. "You seem like you would have been a good one."

The corner of Dick's lips ticked up. "You think so?"

"Well, to rise to the rank of major above all the other regiment captains, and to command that many men – stands to reason you were doing something right." The earnestness is Lipton's expression was unusual. He wasn't out to heap on flattery. It was just an assessment of the facts at his disposal.

"When your commission is up, if you're looking for a job. Come find us in Bluewater, Colorado territory. Might be able to offer you a job." Dick said warmly, holding out hand. "But we don't want to keep you from mess any longer, sergeant."

"Thank you, sir." Lip reached for his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Major Winters."

It was just ten minutes later when Nix accused him of picking up strays.

It was just over a year later when he welcomed Carwood Lipton to the Company.

And it was just under three years later when he told Bill Gaurnere that he wasn't a Quaker.

xxx

Lily met Carwood Lipton on any other day as he knocked on the backroom kitchen door, asking to see Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon.

And it had been any other morning when she barged in on him eight months later.

Luz was really the one to blame. He had told her that Carwood was going to head straight out this morning and their common room would be empty. In hindsight, though, she probably still should have knocked. Not that she was shocked or outraged at what she saw, but she hadn't expected to find him on his bed, trousers down, and a hand wrapped around himself.

He fumbled for the blanket, his cheeks turning scarlet as she walked over to the nearest unoccupied bed.

"You needn't be so embarrassed," she said quietly, "it ain't nothing I haven't seen many times before."

"Well, it's…my something I know that you haven't seen before."

She snorted a quiet laugh, pulling off the bedcovers. "I'm only here to collect the bed linens for washing. Though, if you like, I can come back for yours once you've finished."

His lips pulled to an embarrassed smile as he shifted against the mattress awkwardly. "I don't think that will be necessary. Your sudden entrance has rather…uh, removed the problem."

She glanced over with an apprehensive curiosity. "Removed the problem in a finishing way?"

"No," he admitted, "in more of a startled way."

"Oh no, well we can't have that." She dropped the pile of bed covers, abandoning the current bed as she walked over towards him. "May I help? I would like to help since I just walked in on you."

"Ah, no…uh. My wife has been the only one…and…."

"You needn't worry about me expecting a marriage proposal from this."

"Doesn't that, uh, almost make it worse?" His cheeks burned redder as she dropped to her knees by his bedside. Despite his hesitant words, he made no moves to shuffle away from her or further cover himself with the blanket.

"No, I don't think that makes it worse." She simply said. "If it's been since your wife since you've had another touch, then I'd say that you're long overdue."

"Please…this – you. It's not necessary."

"Some might argue against that." She couldn't stop the rush of affection on his words – so reminiscent of Dick that night in her room. The only two true gentlemen in the place.

She raised her hand, setting it gently on his exposed thigh near the edge of the blanket.

"You don't have to say anything more. You can close your eyes – pretend I'm whoever you want me to be." Her hand inched up under the blanket so as not to spook him. "There's nothing wrong. You're just a man." She cupped him, watching his eyes screw shut and feeling him shudder at the caress. "A man who's denied himself too long."

He started to come back to life under her touch, his hips jerking in stunted movements. But he still tried to control himself, to keep his obvious enjoyment in check. She smirked on a particularly hard squeeze, determined to make him let go.

She flipped the blanket back and lowered her mouth to engulf him in one fell swoop. An obscene moan tore from his lips.

No one ever confirmed if they could hear him downstairs or not. But she held nothing back – using every trick she'd ever learned to make him forget himself entirely. As pent up as he was, it didn't take long.

He slumped back against the headboard, boneless and spent, while she grinned with satisfaction. Nothing quite like a job well done. In some way, it was good to know she hadn't lost her touch, so to speak.

"Thank you – I hope…I hope that's not a cheap thing to say." He said through deep breaths, cracking an eye to look at her earnestly. "What – ah, can I do anything for you in return?"

She smiled gently. "No, Carwood. Let's call it an apology for my barging in on you. Next time and all future times, I will knock on that door. No matter what Luz says."


	5. July Part II

The band was godawful. Speirs didn't even bother to try and hide the disgust on his face. With crossed arms, he stood glaring at the men producing such offensive sounds.

No one should ever be allowed to so blatantly butcher 'Battle Hymn of the Republic'. Yet here was living proof. Maybe if they were relieved of their instruments, the people of Bluewater could be spared such atrocity in the future. The brass would probably have a nice resale value.

A sharp elbow caught him purposefully in the side, as if knowing his train of thoughts. Winters. The man had an uncanny ability to call Speirs out when he was being particularly unsociable. He supposed tonight was no exception, but Winters only had himself to blame. He was the only reason Speirs was here at the annual Bluewater Fourth of July Festival. That and, well. There was something brighter in Lily's smile tonight that was well worth observing. Something that threatened to undo his usual self-discipline and made him want to keep her only for himself.

A bead of sweat ran down the back of his neck, soaking into his collar with an irritation that resonated in his gut on such thoughts. With a welcome distraction, the song drew to a close on the last pitiful collection of notes and the crowd offered up a polite applause. Yes, cheering the end of such an abomination was indeed a worthy cause.

"You should try smiling." Winters' voice was soft over the clapping. "This is supposed to be fun, and you wouldn't want to scare anyone."

"I think people might be more scared if I was smiling."

Winters' chuckle was warm with amusement. "You might be right."

The sorry group of brass players stepped aside, making way for a selection of fiddles and guitars to take the stage. A lively tune struck up, and couples broke off for the open space near the bandstand while others started to mill about in search of conversation, drink and sweet treats.

"I forget how big Bluewater is." Lip said, glancing around.

"Oh, I'm sure the Citizen's Chamber spared no expense in spreading the word far and wide." Nixon said. "Why, just last week, they approached us to provide patronage for this event."

"Which I did – well, we did." Dick said.

Nixon sighed with put-upon annoyance. "No wonder Mr. Ross thanked me so profusely earlier."

Dick shrugged with an amused smile. "It was the least we could do. This celebration is always well done, and we can do our part."

"Not that I disagree. But that's how it starts – you give one contribution and they keep coming back for more. You listen – first, it's Mr. Ross asking for, uh, a toe for this celebration. Next time, it'll be a Mr. Smith and he's asking for a foot to support this other venture."

Speirs fixed Nixon with a look. "I think Dick did the right thing. For what it's worth."

"Same here." Lip agreed.

Dick turned back to Nixon with a proud smile. "Afraid you're outvoted, Nix."

"Hmm. In that case, I suppose I better go and avail myself of the amenities that our money has bought." He turned from the group, heading in the direction of the sweets table.

Dick had to laugh just a little at the man's retreating form. "He already knew that we made a contribution."

Speirs nodded, short and succinct. "Even more of a prudent reason to put an end to his dramatic show."

Lip chuckled. "I think you might have just spoiled the night for him."

"Nah," Dick agreed with a matching laugh, "there's plenty for him to console himself."

"Good evening, Mr. Winters." The prim, dainty voice could only belong to Sally May Brown. Speirs had seen her buzzing around Dick at every social gathering enough to recognize it.

"Good evening, Miss Brown." Dick tipped his hat in polite greeting as Lip and Speirs offered up similar acknowledgements.

She nodded around the group, but only had eyes for Dick, her smile bright. "It's such a grand evening for the festival, don't you think?"

"Indeed." Dick agreed. "It has cooled off quite pleasantly since this afternoon."

"That was my thought on it, too." She eyed him with a hopeful – painfully obvious by Speirs' way of thinking – smile. "Have you yet been to the sweets table?"

"I have not."

"Oh, then you'll have to go soon! You simply must have a slice of my strawberry pie. It's the best in the county."

"If I recall right, it took a prize at the fair last year." Lip said.

"That's right. Yes, sir, it did indeed." A bashful smile lit the young woman's face despite the pride in her eyes.

Dick nodded. "Then, I'll have to be sure to grab a piece."

Speirs fought to hide his look of disgust. "Perhaps before treating yourself, you would care to treat Miss Brown to a dance." He watched Dick turn towards him with a flash of shocked surprise. But the former military man was too good at catching his reactions and swiftly brought the pleasant smile back to his face.

"Uh, yes. Of course. Miss Brown, would you care to dance?"

"Oh, I'd absolutely love to!" Miss Brown's eyes lit up, clearly achieving her end goal. Dick held his arm out for her, nodding quickly at both men before moving off for the dance area. Speirs bit back a smirk at the spark in Dick's eyes the promised retribution.

Lip chuckled with a vague shake of his head. "You ever worry he's going to have enough of your charming personality one day and give you the boot?"

"No."

xxx

"Would you look at Sally May's dress!" Alice sighed a giddy, envious sound. "She is so lucky her mama's so good with a needle and thread - better'n I could hope to ever be."

From across the way, Lily could see pale pink fabric neatly tailored to the prim form of the banker's daughter, the white ruffled trim fluttering as she moved around the dancefloor in Dick's arms.

Elmira snorted. "And so shameless the way she's making starry eyes at Mr. Winters."

"No more shameless than how she looks at him during the Sunday service." Alice said, shaking her head, wide smile still in place. "But her mama simply won't have it. No matter how much of a gentleman he is."

Lily shook her head, amused. "Yet there she is, dancing with him still." The longer she watched the couple dancing about, intermixed with the others, the more a sense of jealous envy started to grow. Over what exactly she couldn't say. By no means was she besotted with Dick, nor did she particularly want to be in Sally May's shoes. But something about the position in life to freely dance with a handsome suitor at the town's Fourth of July Festival was immensely appealing.

"If you want my thinkin'," Alice started to say, "I'm sure Sally May pushed him into that dance. Mr. Winters is just too much of a gentleman to refuse. Even more so if her pa was there. Her pa has been after Mr. Winters to support the bank cause he sees the money that Mr. Winters puts to the church."

"Now that is truly shameless." Lily agreed.

Ginny giggled quietly. "If he's that needy, Mr. Brown should talk to Mr. Nixon. He seems like a man who doesn't know how to live without money."

"That's my thinkin'," Elmira added. "Mr. Nixon is the money man, but either he doesn't trust himself or he's done wrong by Mr. Winters in the past, so Mr. Winters gets to say how the money's spent."

"Thick as thieves, those two. No doubt." Ginny said, her face flashing with an idea. "You don't think they'd ever be willing to share? Can you just imagine what the two of them together – that lush dark hair and all them fancy words, going with the other's quiet manners. And two coc-"

"Girls, please!" Lily scolded. "Not in such a public place. Not that the affairs of Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon – money-wise or otherwise – should be any of our concern, but none of us are to go whispering fantasies here that could spread to rumor."

"No one listens to us anyway." Alice sulked, looking around from where they stood off to the side of the festival goers. "The church ladies pitched a fit when Mr. Winters suggested that we could serve at the sweets table, or even help with the washing up."

"Besides, you shouldn't act so prim." Ginny's eyebrows waggled suggestively at Lily. "I know that Mr. Nixon's fucking you. He's not exactly quiet some nights."

"We were never trying to be discreet." Lily didn't see any point to deny it. They really weren't trying to hide.

"How'd you get him to say yes?" Ginny implored.

"You'll have to ask him."

"Fine." Ginny pouted. "But if I'm up against a specialty act that you've been hiding for years, then I'll be very angry."

Elmira rolled her eyes. "Seems you're always angry about something."

"No, I really will be about this one," Ginny continued, undeterred. "There's nothing that makes Lily more special than me, and the other way 'round in this business. Yet, he chooses her only – hell, the others might as well, and we just can't hear them!"

"A lady doesn't speak of her dalliances." Lily said.

"You ain't no lady." Elmira cut in, a sobering dose of reality. "Don't go putting on no airs like you are, either."

"I'm not." Lily tired to keep a defensive note from her voice. "But being around those gentlemen – Mr. Winters and Mr. Lipton, especially – well, it makes me wish I could be…just better."

"I can't ever see those two falling in a bed of sin." Alice said.

"Oh, but it's fun to dream." Ginny said with a big smile. "And try! I almost had Mr. Lipton once, but then Mr. Speirs came up the stairs and ruined it. Now there's a man who looks like he knows how to show a woman a good time."

Elmira shuddered. "He's too scary. All too…hard edges and sharp stares."

Lily smiled privately to herself. Elmira wasn't all wrong, but there was much more to the man. If only she could tell him how she really felt. If only he returned her feelings. She'd scream his name from the rooftops.

"Mmm not at all." Ginny grinned salaciously. "I'd crow sir for him and let him do whatever he wanted."

"I don't think I've ever seen him with a woman." Elmira said. "Suppose he's funny in that way?"

"Oh, stop." Lily reprimanded. "Don't even be whispering such words without proof. It wouldn't take much to upend a man's life with talk like that."

Elmira shook her head. "Can't deny, it doesn't make you curious. Something untrustworthy about a man who doesn't take a woman every now and then."

"Just because you don't see him do it, doesn't mean that he don't." Lily said, warmth welling within her, a small blush on her cheeks. Part of her would love to brag that he frequented her bed and bask in the other girls' envy. But she knew he wouldn't appreciate her loose tongue.

"Good evening, ladies." Lew's pleasant greeting was a welcome distraction from the current conversation, a return chorus of greetings rising up on his arrival.

"Good evening, Mr. Nixon." Lily said, nodding up at the dance space in front. "We were just watching the couples take a turn. Including Mr. Winters. He's a good dancer."

"Well, he should be. He learned from the best." He took a quick pull from his flask before screwing the lid back on. "And even he's allowed to have his fun. When he lets himself." He looked up at her with a playful smile. "And why should he be the only one? Miss Martin, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

"Well...um. I'd...I'd be delighted." He held his arm out, the true picture of proper decorum and she couldn't stop the schoolgirl flutter in her chest. Looping her arm through his, they bid their farewells to the other girls and moved for the dance area, but she couldn't deny the awkward pull of anxiety in her gut. What was Lew trying to do? If she wasn't allowed to serve at the festival tables, was she even allowed to even set foot in the dance area? She turned to face him as his hand fell naturally to her back, taking her other hand and falling seamlessly into step with the music. As they moved, she couldn't help but notice the questionable smiles, the judgmental gazes from the other dancing couples.

She lowered her head. "You know how much we're being stared at? Glared at, more like. What you're doing ain't respectable."

"I never claimed to be respectable."

"You don't have to claim anything. You wear your eastern breeding so plainly, I don't think you could ever make folks think different."

"Good thing I'm not trying to."

A soft, affectionate laugh bubbled in her throat as they continued to move. His movements were well practiced and so fluid. It perfectly matched the image of the man that he presented when everyone was looking. She couldn't help but smile as it was something she had always envied.

"How can you be so….?" She struggled for the words. "So…devil may care?"

"If you knew my father, you'd understand." Something haunted flashed across his face and disappeared just as quick. "But you're dressed respectably enough for the both of us. If no one didn't already know your profession, then no one would know from looking at you tonight."

"Profession." She almost choked on the word. "You don't need to make it sound so…"

"But that's not what you are anymore."

"No, but I'm not far removed from it." She wasn't sad about it. It was just a statement of fact.

"Uh-oh." He lightly chuckled. "Looks like we may have to divert on a rescue mission."

"Oh?" She asked, concern tightening her face despite his amused smile.

"Your sweetheart looks ready to go on a murderous rampage."

"He is not my sweetheart!" Embarrassment lit on her face as she thumped him on the back with her hand that rested there. His words hit just a little too close to home, but she couldn't deny that she'd be all for Ron being her sweetheart. Not that she could admit to it out loud, either.

"Would you not agree?" He spun them effortlessly around to where she could now see over his shoulder. Sure enough, Ron was standing alongside Carwood as the latter chatted amicably with the schoolteacher. Maybe a little too amicably given Carwood's warm smile and the answering coquettish grin on the teacher's face. No wonder Ron's face was stiff with irritated, uncomfortable lines.

"He certainly doesn't look like he's at a celebration." She agreed.

"Never known Sparky to be much of a celebrator." He started to move them through the crowd, towards the edge of the dance area.

"Maybe you've just never given him reason enough to celebrate."

Lew leaned in close, his cheek brushing hers. "Then let's see if we can give him a reason."

Inexplicably, she felt a heat bloom in her cheeks as he leaned back, pulling her into a whirling series of graceful spins. She felt her breath become short as the spins continued, dizziness eating at the edges of her vision.

"My goodness." He breathed with an air of showmanship, clearly amused as he brought them to a strategic stop. "I do believe I am quite winded."

"Yes." She agreed, fighting back an embarrassed smile. "Myself, also."

"And look who we have here." Lew interjected effortlessly, drawing the attentions of the smaller group. "Good evening, Miss Cartwright. It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Nixon." The school teacher smiled warmly. "Nice to see you again, as well."

Carwood offered a nod in greeting. "Miss Cartwright was just saying that she plans to extend the town's children's education beyond traditional reading and math. She has a vast interest in astronomy."

"Astronomy." Lew echoed. "The study of the stars. Isn't that truly the way of the future."

"I believe it is." She said with a small smile. "Or, at least, will be some day."

"I would be fascinated to hear more." Lew continued. "But I do fear boring Miss Martin. Say, Mr. Speirs - would you be willing to take Miss Martin for a turn."

The look Ron shot Lew clearly showed that he wasn't buying any of what Lew was selling. "I was rather enjoying hearing what Miss Cartwright had to say." Lily couldn't deny the sting of jealousy that welled up. If he truly was interested in educated conversation - he was so knowledgeable in history, after all - she already knew there was little she could offer in that arena.

"Oh come now, Mr. Speirs. Where's your gentlemanly spirit? You'd really leave Miss Martin to fend for herself?" Lew continued to prod with a warm smile. "Maybe if you saved her from such a fate it might put a smile on your sour mug."

Miss Cartwright audibly gasped at the exchange, a hand rising to her chest in distress.

Carwood looked to her with a warm, comforting smile. "I assure you this won't come to a draw, ma'am."

"On second thought," Lew gently said with a calming smile to the group, "it would probably take more than that to make him smile."

As if to prove a point, Ron smiled in response. In all honesty, it was more a sharp flash of teeth. More predatory than friendly as he moved to step around Lew.

"Just remember," he said, voice low, "I know where you keep your stash of Vat."

"You wouldn't. That's sacred."

Another flash of teeth was all that he received in response as Ron held out a hand to Lily in open invitation. "Miss Martin?"

She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her the few steps back, unable to keep the wide smile from her face. With a causal grace, his hand landed on her shoulder blade and her hand fell into his. Her feet started moving before her mind caught up as he turned them in time with the gentle tune. He was surprisingly confident in his steps and turns, leading her with a gentle pressure. Of all the things, she had never expected him to know how to dance.

She felt a blush start on her cheeks. "I must say – for taking so long to agree - you are a good dancer."

"You can thank my mother for that." He said softly, eyes dutifully over her shoulder. "Was a time she wouldn't have it said her boy wasn't the best in the Boston social circle."

"Boston?" The surprised question showed plainly on her face. "I…I didn't know you were from Boston."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, just surprised is all." Had he really just talked about his past? Out here at the town festival with her in his arms? "I didn't have you figured for an eastern boy. You've…shed that skin very well."

He nodded sharply in response, as if it was obvious. She drew another breath to ask a question, but thought better of it. It only raised more questions for her, rekindling her yearning to know everything about him. But he wouldn't respond well to it now. Not in such a public setting, especially. Well, at least, she didn't think he would. Hell, she honestly still couldn't believe his mention of Boston. What had gotten into him tonight? Whatever it was, she couldn't help but smile wider over it.

Instead, she settled for just looking at him. If she'd ever thought him handsome fresh in from the trail, scruffy and dirty, then he looked positively dashing when he cleaned up.

Yes, she'd had him in her bed – in fact, she hoped that he would follow her there later – but in this moment, dancing with him, it was so easy to just pretend. Pretend that she was nothing more than a woman in the arms of her handsome suitor, dancing at the town festival. Perhaps he had asked her father's permission to escort her tonight, and he'd see her safely home later in the evening. And she'd be the envy of all the local girls to have such a strong, handsome man on her arm. A smile warmed her face on the thought. It was so quaint, so perfect. So pure from anything she could ever hope to be.

Maybe someday she'd be a lawfully wedded woman. All the sins of her past wiped away with a small band of gold.

If only it could be his band of gold.

* * *

 _Four Years Ago_

By the time they learned about Ronald Speirs, he was already a legend. Though, he wasn't known by that name exactly. No, in fact, the first stories the members of Easy heard only ever called him by one name.

"I heard a new Killer story today." Luz announced through a bite of meat. "Apparently, he's back in town. Rumored to be, anyway. Looking for the murderer of that Smithville newspaperman. Grant something."

Carwood slathered preserves on his biscuit. "Charles Grant. Shot in the head in the dead of night. The poster put a sizable bounty on the guilty party's head."

Bill chuckled, teasingly. "You thinking of going after it yourself, sarge?"

"I already got a job, Bill."

Luz rolled his eyes. "That's what Killer does anyway. Any man stands between him and his collected bounty ends up...well, from his name - killed." He sent a mocking glare around the table. "Now, does anyone actually want to hear what I have to say?"

"We never want to hear what you have to say." Bill quipped.

"But we hear it anyway." Carwood finished, taking a bite of biscuit as Bill chuckled.

Luz shook his head, always the victim. "If Lily hadn't put such care into this meal, I swear I'd throw it at both of you - so thank you, Lils."

She nodded with a wry smile across the kitchen, listening to the men continue to talk.

Bill smacked a loud bite. "You know what I heard about Killer -"

"I thought I was telling my story -"

"I heard that the man - back in his cavalry days - killed one of his own men for being drunk."

"I don't believe that one," Carwood said, "cavalry officers would not have stood for such behavior. He would have been court martialed, at a minimum."

"You ever consider that's why he collects bounties now?" Bill said with a knowing smirk. "Probably not a lot of work to be found after dishonorable dismissal from military service."

"Well, I heard he killed thirty men at one time." Luz interjected, drawing Bill and Lip's incredulous stares.

Carwood shook his head with a sardonic smile. "Oh come on, George."

"On your head be it if you don't believe me. But he was tracking the gang of vandals that kept sabotaging the telegraph poles - apparently, there was a whole lot more than made the wanted poster. So Killer plays nice, gives smokes around to the whole group, then unloads his Peacemaker and Winchester into all of them."

Bill scoffed around a mouthful. "That's such a load of malarkey. Ain't no way one man can kill that many unanswered without taking a shot."

"Maybe he was getting shot at." Luz shrugged unconcernedly. "No one's said if he was or wasn't dodging bullets."

"Surely, someone was shooting at him - or, he missed killing at least one. Otherwise, where would the story come from?" Carwood asked.

Bill shrugged. "Some folks say that Killer circulates them himself - strike fear into others."

"Yeah, Lip," Luz chimed in, "you scared yet? I'm about to need to start sleeping with my loaded gun just to feel safe from Killer."

"I think it's best just to stay off the wanted posters to stay out of Killer's sights - that goes for the both of you, too."

That conversation between Carwood, Luz and Bill had been four days ago, and she honestly hadn't thought about it much. It really all did seem too fanciful for just one man to do all those things and get away scot-free every time. Honestly, she was kind of surprised none of the men of Easy had investigated the stories or the man. Surely, all that killing had to attract some level of underhanded dealing - or was it all forgiven in the name of bringing known fugitives to account for their crimes? Hell, maybe Dick and Lew should set about recruiting Killer.

She sniffled against the pungent odor of the onion rising up from the cutting board. It was one thing for her to muse on stories, but another thing entirely to think about how Dick and Lew should run their business.

She jumped at a crashing bang from outside. Gripping the cook's knife tighter, she turned with a sharp focus on the backdoor. Another rattling, rummaging sound filtered through the distorted glass and wood. With a nervous swallow, she raised the knife and opened the backdoor to see the storage cabinet wide open, lock broken, and a large, burly man pilfering through the goods.

"Excuse me." She called out. "That cabinet ain't yours."

The man pulled back from the cabinet, grinning wide and salaciously back at her. "Ain't you cute with a knife. You know how to use that, little darlin'?"

"I bet I could figure it out if you don't stop touching what ain't yours."

"All's I need's some grub for the trail, and you look to have just enough."

She tightened her hold on the knife. "I already said stop touching my cabinet."

"Come on, Mr. Item." She jerked her head at the new voice. "Back away."

She stared at the new arrival - a tall, slender man who seemed to have come from nowhere. His radiated calm confidence, his posture ramrod straight and his face stony with intense focus as he stared down the man at the cabinet.

"Say, how's you know my name?"

"Everyone knows your name, Mr. Item. Ever since you shot Charles Grant, it's been plastered from here to Smithville."

"Boy howdy, I'm that famous?"

The tall - handsome, she noticed - stranger continued to pay her no mind. "Come on now, we're going to have a quiet ride back to Smithville."

"I - I ain't going back there."

"Well, you're not going anywhere else." The stranger's hand settled to the gun at his hip.

Mr. Item gulped, suddenly turning a sick shade of white. "It's...it's you, ain't it? The one that done for his own man? The one that killed all them telegraph bandits? Without any fucking mercy!"

"You're not one to talk about compassion, you piece of shit." A deadly resolve darkened the taller man's face. "Now, I'd rather not do this in front of the lady, but we will if you don't step away from that cabinet."

"She ain't no lady." Mr. Item sneered with a dirty laugh. "Just a no good whore at this saloon." He started to pivot around, moving slowly. But then his left shoulder dropped low, indicative of going for his gun.

She jumped, startled as gunfire rang out. Two quick, successive shots and Mr. Item crumpled, slamming hard back against the cabinet on his way down, leaving a spray of blood. With an uncertain glance, she looked back to the taller man, who still stood stiff as a board, his face a tight glare as he re-holstered his revolver.

As if feeling her stare, he turned towards her and she fought the urge to fidget under his piercing gaze.

"Are you gonna shoot me, too?" She asked. "For seeing I what I seen?"

"No." The word was crisp, commanding. "He's not dead. Not yet, anyway" He started over towards Mr. Item as a pained groan sounded.

"How did you…you beat him to the draw." She eyed him warily, gripping the knife tighter.

"No. He was already going for his gun. Tried to feint with the left shoulder, but it didn't work." He toed at the man on the ground with his boot, drawing another pained groan. "Mr. Item here might just as well have been shouting his intentions. And you, with your ridiculous knife."

She bristled. "You would be surprised."

"Not if he shot you." He dropped to kneel beside the wounded man, slinging an arm around the other man's shoulder to drag him staggeringly to his feet. He grunted under the exertion, holding the wounded man close to drag him off.

"Where are you going?" She asked, slowly lowering the knife to her side.

"Smithville."

"You're taking him like that?"

"He deserves worse for what he did." He stopped his labored movements, sparing her a sideways, considering glance. "I suppose I owe you an apology, but you don't look distressed."

"This ain't my first gunfight, nor my first nearly dead man."

"Said without remorse." It sounded like pride on his voice as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a collection of folded bills, holding them out to her. "To replace the soiled goods in your cabinet."

"No need." She couldn't say why she recoiled in offense at his offer, but she didn't need to accept his money.

"I won't stand in your debt for causing unintended offense, and I won't argue with you." He threw the bills to the ground, returning his hand to heft the load of the man slumped against him. Without so much as a farewell, he started off, movements hindered. It was the most perplexing thing, watching him go.

She looked down to the bills laying the dirt, clearly seeing that it was easily more than the contents of the cabinet were worth. Something about that struck her. "Wait." She called out, glancing back up at him as he continued to walk towards the gap between buildings. "What's your name? I can't…very well explain this money to my bosses without a name to go with. Who knows what they'll think."

He turned towards her, something hard and assessing in his gaze. She would almost swear he could see right through her with those unreadable eyes of his. "Speirs."

"Thank you, Mr. Speirs." She met his gaze, really looking at him as something warm burst her chest. "Thank you."

He turned from her without any further acknowledgement, shuffling off between the buildings, dragging his bounty with him. She looked back to the bills in the dirt, walking over to pick them up.

"Lily…what on earth?" Lew's flummoxed words drifted down to her. She glanced back, a guilty look on her face. What for, she couldn't exactly say – she hadn't done anything wrong, but she knew she made quite the picture, kneeling in the dirt to collect cash with a cook's knife in her other hand. And that was to say nothing of the open, blood splattered storage cabinet.

"What happened?" Lew pressed coming out towards her. "I thought we agreed no more knives."

From there, she launched into her account of meeting Mr. Speirs, explaining the presence of the money and offering reassurances that she'd taken no action with the knife. Lew had listened carefully, even if a dubious edge lingered in his expression all the while. In the end, she had simply handed the money over and had gone back inside to resume chopping the half-finished onion.

She knew that Lew and would tell Dick, but she never dreamed that Dick would seek out Mr. Speirs for a conversation. She still didn't know what was said between the two men at that meeting, but three weeks later, Mr. Speirs showed up at the saloon with a small trunk in tow. He even took his first shift at the bar that same night.

The whole scene could have knocked her over with a feather.

But in the weeks and months that followed, there was undeniably something about him. In the manner he conversed – tight lipped, albeit – with the patrons; in the way he accepted and completed his other assignments, riding out with a single-minded focus; in the emotion that swirled in his mercurial eyes that he rarely let show otherwise. She was noticing it – and him – more and more all the time.

His presence around the saloon became a nagging itch, not unlike a mosquito bite that refused to be ignored. And when he was out on the trail, she couldn't help but wonder, anxiously excited and worried, when he would return.

The itch only grew worse she noticed his attention on her in return. He kept himself so tightly reserved as a general rule, but there were some nights she could practically feel his stare across the saloon floor. And if she flirted a little harder with her current trick just to enjoy his subtle tells – the tenser set of his jaw, the harder line of his shoulders. Well, no one had to know.

Until one night. It was a rare occasion where everyone else was out on a job leaving only him to occupy the common room. And after a playful night of flirting with tricks, and casting him sly gazes over the bar – her heart stopped at the end of the night when he headed for his room, hair askew over his forehead, eyes glinting at her in the low light, and left the door ajar behind him. The obvious invitation had her body thrumming before she'd even closed the door behind her.

She had never abandoned herself to a man so completely before. Nor had teeth sucking bruises been so unbelievably pleasurable. And when he graced her with his given name in the stillness that followed, she'd never heard him sound so vulnerable and she spent at least another hour thanking him with all that she had.

After that night, he didn't always visit whenever he was in between assignments. But her nights with Ron were her favorite. Maybe because she finally put a name to the feeling - the yearning warmth, the peaceful contentment, the desire to know him inside out - that consumed her whenever she was around him. Somewhere along the way, she had fallen hopelessly in love with Ron Speirs.

But she hadn't told him and she didn't dare to. It was just easier to lose herself in the taste and smell of him when he visited. He had been gone so long this time and seeing him now in the low lamp light of her room reaffirmed everything she felt for him.

They didn't kiss. He had never kissed her, and she knew better than to initiate. Though, she desperately wanted to. She knew better, but it pained her to know the delicious push and pull of his body, but not the taste of his lips.

Someday, she pleaded silently as they fell into bed. Someday maybe he'll let her know the press of his lips, the nectar of his kiss. But for now, she continued to move with him, uneven breaths coming between them, the pleasured tension building, chests pressed tight as her fingers carded through his hair. God, his hair had always been her favorite.

She cried out, muffled into his shoulder as he continued to move in her. She didn't always find release when she was with him, and tonight was no exception - though, she was so fucking _close._ His movements stuttered as he peaked, his breathing coming in a low moan.

Her lips pressed against his skin, trying to impart everything she didn't dare to say. _I love you. I want you. Don't leave me._

With a sigh, he bussed his lips against her forehead as he moved to sit backagainst the headboard, still in all his glory as he lit up a cigarette. She stretched with a languid, giddy sigh. The summer months were her favorite - when he was generally more prone to linger, when the air was just too warm and sticky to dress right away.

She moved up to join him, shuffling back the corner of her bedsheet to slide against the cool linen. He handed the cigarette over to her and she wrapped her lips around it.

"Will you tell me a Caesar story?" She asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Which one?"

"Does it matter? They all have the same name."

He chuckled softly as she handed the cigarette back. "Caesar isn't a name. It's the title for the Roman Emperor – it's like saying King for King Arthur."

"Oh. Well, that makes it less confusing."

He took a deep drag on the cigarette. "Have I told you about Septimius Severus?"

Her face scrunched as she tried to recall that name. "I don't think so."

"One of my favorites. Ruled the longest out of his dynasty, and he saw the empire grow to the pinnacle of its spread across Europe. A military man through and through. Beloved of the people and hated by the politicians."

"Poly-tishins?" She stumbled around the unfamiliar word as she took the cigarette back.

"The lawmakers. He took the title of Caesar with a military take-over, so the lawmakers weren't happy to suddenly have him as their boss."

She quirked a wry brow, taking a drag. "And he's one of your favorites?"

"History regards him as a strong, capable ruler. It was noted that 'his daring ambition was never diverted from its steady course by the allurements of pleasure, the apprehension of danger, or the feelings of humanity.' There's something to be learned from that."

She licked her lips, brushing his fingers as he took the cigarette back for a final pull. "That sounds lonely. To forgo pleasure and human feelings."

"He wasn't celibate. Had at least one wife, and several children. He just didn't let himself get distracted and overcome by his desires. Unlike….Oh, unlike Tiberius. Or Elagabalus."

She chuckled, rolling over onto her side and tucking up against the pillow to study his profile in the low light. "Stop pulling my leg - you made that last name up."

"No, ma'am. Elagabalus – self-named after a Syrian god - became emperor when he just 14 years old. But instead of ruling, he much preferred to dress up as a woman, have sex with other men, and prostitute himself out of the imperial palace."

Her brow furrowed, sadness softening the lines of her eyes. "He was ruler of a whole country, right? Like our president?" He nodded silently as she shifted her head against the pillow with a sigh. "Then why would someone like that choose to be a whore?"

"Ruling an empire is a lot to take on, let alone at 14 years old. Perhaps it was just his way of releasing the high demands of the job."

She yawned with another shake of her head. "If that's true, then I'm sad for him."

He huffed a breathy laugh as he shuffled, leaning down closer to her. "Don't lose sleep over it. As emperor, I'm sure he was still comfortable and very well taken care of."

She hummed in response, basking in the gentle press of his lips against her forehead. The rush of disappointment that followed pushed a sigh from her as he swung his feet to the floor and stood up.

"What about the other one? Tibertius?" A yawn followed, opening her eyes to find him gazing down at her as he dressed.

"I'm not sure you'd stay awake long enough. We'll save Tiberius for next time."

She smiled, unashamedly watching him as he righted the last of his clothing and moved for the door. Someday, she told herself as the door closed behind him.

Someday he will fall asleep beside her and she'll say the words she wants most to say. _I love you._


	6. August

Alice finished the last touch of painted rouge, puckering her lips in the mirror. "I hear a cavalry group is in town."

Elmira scoffed as she adjusted the hem of her stockings. "Now who'd you hear that from?"

"I overheard Mr. Lipton tell Mr. Nixon." The brunette turned from the mirror with a smile and an excited shimmy of her shoulders. "Hopefully that means lots of business tonight. There's a new bolt of fabric that I want."

Lily smiled as she adjusted another pin in her hair. Alice did have quite the hand at sewing. In fact, the dress she wore today – a dark green with white lace – had been courtesy of Alice's skill with a needle. "You keep the tricks at the tables playing and spending, and I'm sure you'll get it."

"Maybe you could put in a word with Mr. Winters?" Alice smiled hesitantly.

"It's Mr. Nixon she's fucking." Ginny pointed out with a hint of jealousy. "You'd best ask her to ask him."

"I can't curry favors from either of them." Lily said resolutely. "No matter who I'm fucking."

"Then why take the risk if you ain't getting anything out of it?"

"Sometimes, Ginny, there's more to sex than just money and favors. Though, that does remind me." Lily paused, pushing another pin into her curls. "All y'all have been taking your tea regular?"

"Always." Alice defended.

Elmira glared in offense at the obvious question. "Of course."

"Good." Lily agreed, looking over at the last one to speak. "Ginny?"

"As I can – yes." She sighed, finishing up the last button of her boot. "The heat of it bothers my tooth."

"Still with that tooth?" Lily shook her head, reproachful. "You need to let Doc Mul tend to it. He even asked me to speak to Mr. Winters about it."

Ginny's eyes widened with panic. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"

Lily sighed, shaking her head. She hadn't really mentioned it to him. Not beyond that one morning.

"Please don't." Ginny implored. "I don't want to hear him say it'll be good for me, and see that look in his eyes that...that just…"

"That just makes you feel like the most damn precious thing to him?" Elmira finished with a knowing raise of her eyebrows.

Alice twirled a curl around an idle finger with a distant smile. "How is he capable of making everyone feel so important with just one earnest look…"

"Because he does genuinely care about you. About all of us." Lily answered. "He simply wants what's best – which includes you getting your tooth seen to and not skimping on your tea, Ginny. I don't even want to have to imagine the look on his face if I have to tell him you're in the family way."

Elmira snorted. "He'd probably turn as red as his hair." Another laughed passed her lips as she dropped the hem of her dress. "Do you suppose he's ever been with a woman?"

"Oh, I'd love to be the first." Ginny gushed with a dreamy smile. "See just how far down that lovely red color goes."

A soft twitter rose up around the room as Lily smiled with a roll of her eyes. "You keep on dreaming, girls. He's too good for any of us." She gave one last look in the mottled mirror, deciding she looked presentable enough before turning around to survey the others. "And you." She looked pointedly at Ginny. "Drink your damn tea. Otherwise, I'll have to start watching you do it, nevermind the hurt in your tooth."

"Alright, Lily." Ginny shrunk back, stung. "Goodness. No call to be so mean about it."

"Then just do it, and I won't have to get mean."

"Hey, Lily," Elmira spoke up, "do you know who's working the bar tonight?"

"Mr. Lipton, I think."

"Oh good." Elmira grinned. "I like watching his shoulders as he pours and reaches for bottles. Even more so, when he's wearing that old threadbare shirt that's near see-through."

"You like just watching?" Alice prodded.

The other woman shrugged. "He's never shown me a sign. Besides, I got this barb wire salesman who's been here four days. Said he needed to keep heading for Cheyenne, but he just can't bear to leave me!"

"Are we going to lose you to Cheyenne and a marriage proposal by week's end?" Lily teased.

"Oh, wouldn't that just be grand!"

Another chorus of giggles rose up in the room as they continued to put on the finishing touches to their looks for the evening.

Lily moved for the door. "Well, I'm headed on down. Not more than 10 minutes, you hear?"

A chorus of yeses rose as she opened the door, stepping out onto the landing high above the saloon floor.

Originally, the building had been a hotel with rooms on the second floor and an open restaurant space on the first floor. How Dick and Lew had come by the building, Lily didn't know. But by the time they arrived, it had been remarkably well tended and made over into the saloon she knew today. It was just another indication of the obvious money that these men had behind them.

The largest two rooms, each comprising of a sitting room and bedroom, belonged to Dick and Lew. A larger, single room next to it, had been furnished with five narrow beds, each with a bedstand and chair. It had looked very military to her, but once she learned about the cavalry background that most of the men shared, it didn't seem out of place.

They gave the next room over to her. All by herself. It was the first time she ever had a space to call her own. A bed that she didn't have to share, unless she wanted. She still remembered that day and the tears that had wet her eyes at their generous offer. Each of the others girls had their own rooms, too. Smaller albeit, but it afforded them the ability to better conduct business in accordance with Dick's rules.

The descent down the stairs afforded her a good view of the action on the saloon floor. It wasn't even 5 pm yet and already the crowd was thick. She could hear Bill's drawl over the general din, calling out the plays and taking bets. Babe now sounded like a natural, pitching his voice to draw interest and keep the tricks hooked. It brought a smile to her face as she neared the bottom step, a couple of catcalls sounding out. She swayed her hips, sauntering through the crowds with a coquettish grin. Just enough to whet appetites without giving too much away.

"Say there, pretty dove." A thick hand fell to her waist, drawing her attention to a leering, snaggle-toothed smile. "Go buy us a whiskey – git one for you, too."

She smiled playfully. "It ain't yet my time. I need to go see my boss, and then I'll come back."

"We'll wait for ya!" The other man's friend interjected, his expression eager and eyes excited.

"Then I'll know right where to find you." She winked as she dislodged the hand from her waist, continuing to thread through the groups of men towards the back door. At some point, Lew had managed to scare up some red paint and after much debate between him and Dick, the words 'Keep Out' had been painted across the front in thick, blocky letters.

Dick's pleasant voice filled the backroom as she closed the door. " – wouldn't expect you back for the better part of 3 weeks." She glanced around, noting Gene and Lew also present. The latter looked over to her with a nod in greeting.

"You remember where this place is located?" Dick asked.

"Outside Frymore a spell." Gene said, his face sharp with a serious edge as he continued to pack various goods into saddle bags. "A hospital, you said."

"That's what it sounds like, though, we don't know what it actually is."

Her brow furrowed as she stepped over the table. "What are you about, Gene?"

"Riding out for Frymore. Reports of a hospital there that may be more than just a hospital. Possibly even admitting people who ain't even sick."

"To what purpose?"

"That's why he's riding out." Lew said, nodding towards the younger man who finished packing the last of supplies. "A prospector from out that way is carrying the story that when he tried to have a wound tended there, they turned him away saying it wasn't that kind of hospital. But the screams and cries, to hear him tell it, were those of the tormented souls in hell."

Her stomach tightened anxiously on the distressing thought. "That sounds awful. I hope that's not what you find."

"So do I." Gene said, his eyes heavy with worry.

Dick held out a hand with two cards towards Gene. A king and a four of spades, each emblazoned with a very specific 'E' brand. The corner of her mouth ticked up as she watched the other man accept, tucking them securely away in his shirt pocket.

"Be safe. Be smart." Dick said, reaching a hand forward to shake Gene's. "Good luck."

"Thanks. Y'all, too." He looked between Dick and Lew with a knowing look as he hefted the saddle bags. "Take care, Lily."

She offered up thanks as he started to shuffle away for the backdoor and Lew stepped towards her with a smirk. "The girls all ready to start?"

"They were when I came down." The backdoor rattled in its hinges, closing over her words. "It's quite busy out there already."

"Cavalry's in town." Dick said, earning a mock-scolding glare Lew.

"Thinks he owns the information since I told him."

Lily laughed softly. "Well, Alice overheard Carwood tell you, so I'd say you don't own it, either."

Dick chuckled with a warm smile that held a teasing edge. "If Lip's outperforming you as my information man, Nix, I can give him a promotion and start sending you out on the trail."

"I don't think you can do that, major. Not without first decommissioning the NCO and recommissioning him as an officer." Lew shook his head reproachfully, looking to her with a smirk. "You'd think a man in the major's position should know that."

She quirked her lips confusedly. It wasn't the first time one of the men had launched into cavalry speak, but very little of it made sense. "I don't know what either of y'all are about – with the decom-mishing." She scowled. "Ugh, what an ugly word."

Lew laughed softly as he stepped closer, holding out a card towards her. A jack of spades with the branded 'E'. "Flash this around a bit tonight. See what kind of talk it drums up."

She took the card between her fingers, glancing down at it. This was a game they played every so often. It helped keep the name of the company alive and usually turned up an interesting nugget or two. Dick had been deadset against something so obvious at first, but she played it off beyond Lew's highest hopes each time she walked the floor with an Easy Company card.

She reached up to the top of her dress, nestling it in the swell of her cleavage. The card paper scratched against her skin as she adjusted it, leaving the 'J' prominently visible above the low-cut fabric.

"Move it to the other side." He said softly. "The 'J' on the other corner shows the tip of the 'E' brand. More intrigue."

She glanced up with a wry brow, watching him watch her adjust herself. "Ever the salesman." She slipped the card free and moved it to the other side. It didn't take long to adjust it, the 'J' with a burned edge peeking out from the lace suggestively.

Dick looked up with a tight edge. "Lew, leave her alone."

"He's done nothing untoward." She defended. "He would have the better eye for how to sell his own company." As if to prove her point, she stepped forward bracing a hand against Lew's arm as she leaned in, pecking a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, Lils."

"Sure thing, Lew."

xxx

The next several hours passed in a busy blur with very little recognition of the card tucked in her dress. She found the two men from earlier, bringing over a jovial round of drinks and cheering them on in their game of chance. Only one of them had looked to the card in her dress, merely accusing her of trying to cheat before he lost his head to the cards and booze.

She continued to float around the tables, through the throng of navy blue uniforms as cavalrymen enjoyed their furlough. A loud wave of laughter rolled up from a table opposite her, drawing a smile. It had to be Luz's table.

"Hey, Lily!" She turned at the sound of Alice's voice, catching the other woman waving her over. "Lily! Over here."

Lily walked over, taking in the broad back of the man whose arm Alice was currently hanging from.

"You must meet him!" Alice gushed adjusting her hold as the man turned around. "Allow me to present Marshal Norman Dike."

Lily's eyes widened on a flash of surprise that she couldn't contain as she came face to the face with the marshal. The glint in his eyes was pure recognition, but his shit-eating grin told a different story.

"Why pretty lady, how lovely to finally meet you." He said, voice dripping with genteel politeness.

Alice squealed, simpering. "Ain't he just a gentleman!"

"Some gentleman, alright." Lily coolly returned. "You know, Marshal Dike, you look mighty familiar. Weren't you in here a few weeks back?"

"Oh, I come here every so often. Come to think of it – you look familiar, too." He bit off a sharp smirk before turning to Alice with a starry-eyed smile. "But I don't recall seeing this gorgeous lady last time."

Lily huffed. "You didn't gave me a chance to make the proper introductions, if I recall rightly."

His kept his gaze on Alice, distracted. "That's not what I recall."

Lily bit back a scathing response, the edges of her smile sharpening as her jaw tensed with indignation. "Must be my mistake."

"I'm sure it is." He looked over with a dismissive smile, eyes dragging down her front. His gaze caught, brow furrowing. "What is that? Are you trying to cheat your joint's own games?"

"Oh, nothing like that." She raised a hand, trailing a suggestive finger along the edge of the exposed card. "Some fella left it at a table."

"May I see it, chickadee?" Dike asked, syrup on his voice. For any other man, she'd lean over suggestively and let him pluck it from her dress. But for this one, she teased it out from beneath the lace to reveal the branded 'E'.

"Oh, another one!" Alice squealed with a wide, excited smile. "Is he still here?"

"No – I didn't even see who left it. Bill found it and handed it to me."

Dike yawned suddenly, making a poor attempt at hiding it. "Those E card boys. Here and gone again like a puff of smoke. Showing up just long enough to stick their noses where it don't belong and stir up trouble."

Alice looked back at Dike, concern across her young face. "Trouble? No, all's I hear is that those men help people – why one of 'em helped that widow when a rancher threatened her holdings by changing the creek that fed her place."

Lily had to reign in a private smile, proud that story was among the ones circulating. Carwood had done a masterful job at coming to that woman's aid and seeing her water rights restored.

Dike sighed, turning back to Alice with a pitying look. "Oh my poor, innocent Alice. Aren't you just a doll? Believing such a good story? I almost don't want to spoil it for you."

"Spoil what?" Lily asked, glancing back down to the card with a critical eye. "I've only ever heard that the men who carry and leave these cards do good deeds. Helping people. Ain't that the hearsay – find one of the men, or the Major himself, and get your problem solved."

"Problem solved." Dike scoffed, another yawn hinging on his words. "It's simple extortion."

Lily blinked a wide-eyed stare. "Ex-what?"

"Ex-tor-tion. I'd spell it for you, if I thought you knew your letters. It means getting money from threats."

"How do the E men do that?" Alice asked, growing more concerned by the minute.

"They dangle the promise of salvation and resolution for those poor, weary souls, then take 'em for every last penny in order to solve the problem. Not simply content enough to play good Samaritan for those who suffer, but always need to turn a profit. They never consider the mess they leave behind once the problem is solved."

Lily's frown deepened. Surely, the marshal didn't know what he was talking about. Dick would never allow that to happen. He wouldn't let anyone be worse off after an agent of Easy helped. Or maybe, if it was true, then he didn't know? But, no…she couldn't see anyone with Easy genuinely hurting someone or charging more than a reasonable fee. Not even Speirs.

Alice's gentle voice drew her back to the conversation. "That's simply awful, Marshal Dike. I had no idea those men were only out to make money."

"That's why they exist, my little dove. Otherwise, that's what the law is there for. It's my job to protect those who are defenseless in the face of trouble, and I charge no fee for my services."

Alice sighed dreamily. "That's so noble of you."

"It has nothing to do with me," Dike continued, the picture of humble modesty. "It's my sacred and honor-bound duty to serve the great people of this land."

Lily fought against the rising bile in her stomach as she offered up a well-practiced smile. "We should all count ourselves so lucky."

"Amen." Alice agreed, smiling proudly back up at Dike.

"Do excuse me, please," Lily said, nodding between Alice and Dike, "I hope you continue to enjoy your evening."

"I'm sure that I will." Dike looked back to Alice with a look that made the other woman blush. "But Lily – you might want to hold onto that card. I suspect it'll be a relic here before long."

* * *

 _4 Weeks Later_

The piano serenaded the few patrons seated at the tables, lost in their cards. Late afternoon sun blazed through the windows, catching on the dust and dirt in the air. It was quiet and that was how Roe aimed to keep it. He preferred quiet. Especially after that turn behind the bar a few years back when a whole box of firecrackers was accidentally set off. It had taken everyone on hand to calm the crowd, and at least two rounds on the house. He was glad Nixon had been around to brush it off in his devil-may-care way, and equally glad Speirs had been far removed to keep it from turning into a bloodbath.

A loud curse went up from a table across the room, stealing Roe's attention from the glass he was drying. The man slammed his fist against the table, heaving a sigh and motioning at the banker for another hand. Roe returned to the glass at hand, releasing the breath he held. It wasn't that he wouldn't put a stop to the rampage of a violent patron - hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd reached for the rifle under the bar. Or the knife in the sheath just under his pant leg. But he just wasn't in the mood for it today.

The memories of his assignment to the hospital still haunted him. By all accounts, Renée Lemaire should still be alive. But she wasn't. It boiled his blood to no end that the fire had been ruled an accident. Sixty-five souls lost to a fucking, careless accident they said. It wasn't a good enough explanation for Eugene Roe - from everything he saw, it just didn't sit right. He exhaled another sigh, releasing the tense grinding of his teeth, his clenching hold on the glass. He really couldn't afford to think about it all right now.

He still had a job to do, after all.

He reached for another glass from the sudsy tub, shaking the excess loose before wiping it dry.

The front doors flew open with a bang as the solid figure of Marshal Dike burst through, revolver brandished and ready. "US Marshal! Where's he hid out?"

Roe swept his gaze around the patrons, largely too startled and stupefied by the interruption to react. He raised his hands in supplication, brow pinching together confusedly. "Where's who hid out, sir? There's no trouble here."

"Don't play wise, son." Dike stormed over, boots thudding soundly against the wood floor. "I'm after a man – tall, slim fella in a dark brown hat – chased him into town and his horse is wandering loose in the street. I shot him in the ass, so he's not moving too fast on his own."

"If he's shot in the ass, why would he come here? We ain't got a doctor."

The marshal stared down at Roe with a frustrated glare. "He's looking for any place to hide, this one. He'll do anything to not let me catch him. Now…what's behind that door over there? Or the doors upstairs?"

Dike started to make for the back door that read 'Keep Out' and Roe moved around the bar. "I…I can't let you back there." Playing the easily intimidated young kid would probably go over better then trying to stand his ground. "My boss…he'll fire me. That's his private rooms back there."

"Sounds like just the place to hide." The marshal stomped over towards the closed door, various patrons scattering out of his way, crowding against the walls to avoid any fight that might break out.

"No, sir! You can't!" Roe yelled after Dike, running around the bar to catch up, a suitably worried look on his face.

"US Marshal!" He threw open the door to a mixture of gasping and cursing, and a scene that even had Roe doing a double-take.

"Dammit all." Nixon scowled, shirt hanging half-off his shoulders, trousers low and loose, clenched in one hand. "Can't even let a man finish." Lily was on the table underneath him, looking equally scandalized by the interruption – skirts bunched high around her thighs, shoulder and swell of her bosom bared by the shrugged down dress. Dike took in the scene with wide eyes, much as Roe was doing. This…this was the last thing he expected to find back here.

Dike stammered, shaking his head. "I…uh, I'm looking for a fugitive. You wouldn't happen to have…have seen him come through here?"

"Unbelievable, godammit." Nixon continued grumbling curses, tucking in his shirt, righting his suspenders, eyes blazing all the while. "Don't you think if another man had interrupted me that I'd currently be dealing with him instead?" He swept away from the table with an angered flourish, brushing past Roe. "But now, it's only you – and you've upset my patrons out there."

"Sir," Roe cut in, "I tried to stop – ."

"I'll deal with you later." Nixon's tone was scathing, his glare equally deadly. Roe shrank back, dutifully quiet and scolded. "And now you, marshal." Nixon pointed back towards the door with a put-upon sigh. "Let's go clean up the mess you made in the front of my house."

"I'm doing my duty – his horse is wandering loose. And this man needs to be found."

"Yes, yes – dangerous and disruptive. But so are you." Nixon's dismissive words continued as he ushered Dike out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

At the click of the latch, Lily leapt off the table, doing up the last buttons on her dress as she flew to the storage room door. "Come on, Carwood!" There was a barely edged note of panic in her voice, face full of worry as she rushed over to the stove, reaching for the matches. "Roe's here now."

Roe stared after her, dumbfounded. Why the hell would Nixon and Lily need to put on an act like that? Unless...shit.

Lip came from around the corner of shelves in the storage room, burdened with the weight of another man who could only be Speirs. His arm was thrown over Lip's shoulders, wet blood stained down the front of Lip's trousers as he all but dragged the taller man into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Roe moved to help, the question echoed in the concern on his face.

"He was shot in the backside." Lip's words were strained under the effort.

"Jesus." Roe couldn't believe it. Dike had been after Speirs. "Lay him down, on his belly." Speirs grunted in pain as they helped him onto the table, pulling himself across the wood surface to lay flat. Roe cuffed him on the ear, face tight with displeasure as he heard Lily bang metal on the stovetop. "What did he catch you doing, huh? And what were you thinking coming here? Bringing him down on us?"

"He's…." Speirs forced the word out through gritted teeth and a sharp breath. "Dike's crooked. I saw him. He saw me see him…."

"If that's true, he's going to stay after you." Lip said.

"No shit." Speirs hissed as Roe moved around to prod gingerly around the wound.

"Bullet's gotta come out. I'll need hot water, Lily."

"I'm working on it." She answered, pulling a bowl down from the shelf of dishes.

"And my kit from the back. Lip, start cutting his pants away so I can see better." A whisper of metal sounded as Lip pulled his knife free of its sheath and Roe moved for the backroom. The box of medical supplies sat unassuming on the shelf, labeled 'Old Invoices', lest anyone should come thieving. He hauled it down and swiped a bottle of brown liquor from the nearest open crate before going back into the kitchen.

"You're lucky I still had water leftover from lunch." Lily said as she poured steaming water from the kettle into the bowl.

Speirs grunted in discomfort. "There's very little…that's lucky about this."

"Sure, there is," Lip said, continuing to cut away the blood-soaked fabric. "Dike's shot could have landed in your spine."

Speirs huffed a dark laugh as Roe pulled out what he would need, the metal instruments clinking against the bottom of the bowl in the hot water. He pulled the cork on the bottle free, moving around the table to set it down by Speirs' head. "Have you eaten recently?"

"No."

"That'll help." Roe said, placing a hand on Speirs' shoulder in a supportive squeeze, offering the flash of a sympathetic smile. "Drink up. You're gonna need it."

xxx

Lily looked down at him on the table, heart seized with worry, as he took hearty pulls of the brown liquor.

"Lily, get him a spoon or something wooden." Carwood said softly. "We gotta keep him quiet." With a pale look, she turned back to the worktable, reaching for a wooden spoon and handing it to Carwood who nodded silently, concern heavy in his eyes. "You…you might want to leave. Wouldn't want this to be upsetting for you."

She looked around uncomfortably before settling back to Carwood. "Can – could I help at all?"

"Holding him still, keeping him quiet is the only help he'll need." Gene said.

"This isn't the first bullet you've dug out of me." Speirs grumbled around the neck of the bottle which was now almost half-empty. "And Lily goes."

She stared down at him, surprise and hurt in her gaze. "Ron, I want to help – "

"I don't want you here."

Tears pricked her eyes as she exhaled, defeated. "Ok." She nodded at Carwood, taking a step towards the storeroom. "Ok - good luck." She pulled the door closed behind her, just able to see Carwood offer the spoon to Ron and watch him take it between his teeth.

"Ok." Gene's voice sounded steady and calm through the closed door. "Deep breath, now."

Her stomach lurched on the sudden sharp exhale, the low, pained moan that accompanied it. There were soft scuffling and shuffling noises. A soft whimper. Her hand flew to her mouth, holding back from reaching out to the door handle as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to do something - anything - to take his pain away. She wished she were holding his hand. All she wanted was to be there for him, and he had so curtly dismissed her.

A door hinge squeaked. "Oh, Jesus." Lew's voice joined in with the other sounds.

"I've almost got it." Gene still sounded just as calm and focused. But then it went suddenly, strangely quiet. "There it is. It's out."

"He is, too." She threw the door open on Carwood's words, unable to wait any longer.

"Didn't want to tell him it would be worse than his arm last year." Gene said, setting the forceps with the bullet aside, reaching for a clean cloth to press against the wound.

Lew breathed a heavy sigh. "Jesus, that was close. Too damn close. What the hell did he do?"

She couldn't help but stare at Ron's prone from on the table, breathing deep and steady. He didn't look exactly peaceful, but at least he wasn't suffering right now. She crossed her arms against her chest, moving more into the kitchen, listening to Carwood talk, his face heavy with concern.

"…And Dike caught him."

"Goddammit." Lew sighed again, reaching for the abandoned bottle of liquor by Ron's head and taking a big drink. "We need to get him cleaned up and out of sight." He caught her gaze, worry pinching his brow. "Lils – you ok?"

She offered a weak nod, sniffling and wiping ineffectually at the tears on her cheek. "Yes, I'm ok."

"Ok." He sounded doubtful. "Go up and grab a blanket, will you? We'll have to cover him – oh, and grab a change of pants for Lip. He can't go out there like that."

She nodded, not trusting her voice again as she moved for the door, out towards the saloon and staircase.

"I'll get a smelling salt." She heard Gene say as she opened the door. "He should come around quick –"

The rest of his words were cut off by the closing door and the din of the saloon. She didn't even look to see who Lew had manning the bar as she took the stairs up, easily moving for the common room. Each bed had a trunk at the end of it, and she easily found Carwood's, flipping the top and fishing out a pair of trousers. With a quick grab of the blanket off Ron's bed, she headed back downstairs to the inevitable mess that awaited in the kitchen.

"- said I heard you." Ron sounded utterly exhausted and annoyed as she opened the door, catching glances from Carwood and Gene.

"Good," Lew scolded as she handed the trousers over. "I don't even want to see you thinking of trying to leave any time soon."

"I said I won't." The annoyance was giving way to anger as Gene helped Ron onto shaky legs.

"Here's the blanket." She passed it to Gene, watching as it was slung around Ron's shoulders.

"Come on," Gene said, wrapping a supportive arm around Ron's waist. "We got to get you drunkenly up the stairs. Shouldn't be hard to pull off right now."

Ron cursed under his breath as they started for the door and Carwood disappeared into the backroom with his clean trousers. She turned from the hobbling pair, not really wanting to look at Ron right now. There was just nothing she could think to say to him. Her hand twitched at her side. Maybe she would just slap him instead.

The near end of the table was covered in various red smudges, the bowl of instruments still sitting there. It would take some elbow grease for those smudges to not permanently stain the wood. She didn't want to be reminded of Ron bleeding on the table every time she ate.

She continued to survey the aftermath, distantly hearing Carwood come out of the backroom, him and Lew exchanging words.

"I'll go take over out front." Carwood said. "And check on the girls."

"I already did that, but it probably wouldn't hurt." Lew agreed, raking a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Carwood. Quick thinking to drag him back there."

"Not as quick as you, sir. I'm sure the look on Dike's face was something else."

Her eyes landed on the wooden spoon in the middle of the table. There were visible imprints from Ron's teeth along the handle. The tears from earlier came rushing back as she continued to stare down. Carefully, she reached out for it as if she needed to convince herself it was real. Her fingers stroked over the teeth marks, a sob lodging in her throat.

"Lily?" Lew's voice sounded just over her sharp trembling inhale.

"Fucking bastard." She ground out as tears streamed down her cheeks, gripping the spoon tighter. "Stupid fuking bastard."

"Whoa….What - Lils, come on, it's alright." Lew moved in slow steps towards her, holding out a hand like a peace offering. "He's alright."

She clutched the spoon tight to her chest, clinging to it. "He - he didn't -"

"It's ok, it's alright." Lew's hand landed on her arm, drawing her in, pulling to wrap her in a hug. "You know how he is...I mean, you said it. He's a bastard on a good day, let alone days like today." He rubbed gentle circles against her back as her arms unfolded around him. "I don't know what he said, but I'm sure he didn't really mean it - whatever it was."

She hiccuped a sad sniffle. "He - he doesn't even kiss me, Lew."

He tightened his hold around her. "Damn, Lily...this -." He broke off, sighing in surprised recognition. "You...you love him, don't you?"

She could only nod against him, not finding words to voice it aloud. "As much as you love yours."

He snorted softly. "Aren't we a fine pair. Pining over what we don't have." She breathed deep against him, her tears flowing until they dried and the weight lifted from her chest. It felt amazingly good to finally admit it. Even if it wasn't to the man in question. But still, there was something to be said for the relieving power of confession. And the reassuring hold of another person's arms.

"Come find me tonight. Please?" She turned her head against his shoulder. "I...I just want to be held. Like this."

"Sure." He pressed a kiss to her brow, rubbing a hand up and down her back. "You're alright now?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm alright now." She pulled back from his embrace as he let her go, a smile between them that held so much understanding. "I should...I need to start cleaning this up." She wiped at her face, surveying around the kitchen with another deep breath, still holding the spoon.

"Give me a few minutes to go check with Carwood on the front of the house, then I'll come help. Hell, if we can get this all cleaned up before Dick -" The back door opened, warm sunlight spilling onto the floor as footfalls followed. "Son of a bitch."

"Hello, Nix," Dick greeted warmly, the smile falling from his face as he took in the rest of the kitchen. The blood. The bowl of medical instruments. Lily's tear-streaked face. "What happened here?"

* * *

The rest of the day passed in an anxious haze. Gene had said that Ron developed a fever. It wasn't serious right now, but it was something to be watched. Morning would be far more revealing.

In hindsight, she probably should have worked the floor tonight - if only to have a distraction from her thoughts. But the idea of dressing up and putting on a pleasurable front for the patrons just sounded exhausting. Especially after all the effort she spent scrubbing the blood stains out of the table. She sighed, fighting to urge to curl in on herself, wishing she could do it in someone's arms. She really hoped Lew still remembered her request from earlier. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her nightgown clad shoulders as she sat up against her headboard, watching the shadows from her lamp dance across the wall. From what she could hear through the floor, it sounded like the action might be winding down for the night. Hopefully Carwood and Gene would be able to close everything down.

She perked up at the soft footfalls on the landing outside, hoping. A smile warmed her face as the door opened softly, admitting the faintest sliver of light as his shadow crossed the threshold before the room plunged back into the low lamp light. She met his gaze, unable to conceal her relief as he walked towards her.

"I'm glad you're here." She said softly, watching the lamp light catch in his brown eyes.

"I said I would." Lew leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple before moving around to the other side of her bed, hands falling to the buttons of his shirt. She dropped the wrap from her shoulders, resting it on her bedstand.

She watched him step out of his trousers, the light-colored underclothes stark against the dim darkness of her room. It had certainly been some time since they had shared the same bed fully clothed. The last time was probably when he had come stumbling in, drunker'n sin and hit her bed, passed out. But he seemed sober enough now as he slid under the covers and she extinguished the lamp light. He reached for her in the darkness, pulling her and fitting her to the curves of his body. She had always enjoyed laying with him, and she tucked in close against him, releasing a deep sigh.

"You know he's right in the other room." Lew's voice was low in her ear, rumbling against her back.

"Gene and Carwood will be there soon enough." Her tone was dismissive but laced with an unmistakable note of sadness. "And he's likely caught up in a feverish dream. He wouldn't want me there, either."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Or him. I'm willing to bet you he didn't even think of it like that - hell, to hear Roe tell it, he emptied half that liquor bottle in a matter of minutes. And he doesn't sit still well. Recovery is going to be hell for him." He brought his arm down around across her stomach, feeling her snuggle further into him as his hand came to rest atop hers against the mattress, fingers tracing her knuckles. "You should tell him." There was something so envious on Lew's voice. "It might improve his mood."

"Or completely cut him off from me. You know how he...doesn't open up. I don't know what it is or why, but I…," she sighed, spreading her fingers to intertwine with his, "I just want him to know that it'll be different with me. I don't want to hurt him. Ever."

"And what would he say if he were to walk in right now, hmm? See us like this?" His voice dripped with a velvety tease.

She hummed, turning her head a little to feel the brush of his nose, his breath across her pulse. "And what would yours say if he saw us right now?"

"I thought we were talking about you."

"In that case, he would probably notice that we were both still dressed. Or just the close the door and leave."

"You don't give him enough credit."

"No? And what do you think he would do?"

"If he loved you in any measure, I think he would shoot me dead where I lay."

"You don't need to worry," she sighed, "he doesn't love me."

"And how do you know that?"

"I told you - he doesn't even kiss me when he...when we're together like this."

"Ever consider that maybe he's scared to kiss you?"

"Scared? Him?"

"We're all scared about something. Perhaps…," he paused, exhaling before drawing a deliberate a breath, "maybe he's scared to kiss you because he's afraid he'll never stop. Afraid...that he'd - that he would never be able to leave you, to keep doing his job. Afraid when he wasn't here, that he'd worry about you. That he'd be powerless to protect you." Her eyes closed, unbidden heat coiling low in her belly, breath catching as Lew continued to talk. His voice dipped to an intimate, silky tone. "Afraid that kissing you will make his feelings for you all too real. Will change how he talks to you. How he touches you when he lays with you."

She rocked back into him, her body warming and awakening to the press of him against her, the primal register of his voice. She moved their entwined hands to her chest.

"Are you sure?" His hand moved around hers, molding to the gentle swell of flesh, kneading gently. "Earlier, you said just held."

"But you started talking." She guided his hand down her stomach, towards where she wanted his touch most.

He pressed his lips to the back of her neck in a open-mouthed kiss as she shifted, bunching up her nightgown. The warm graze of his fingertips pulled a sigh from her as he continued to mouth along her neck as he continued talking. Talking to about her about _him_ \- if he were in bed with her now, how he would make her body sing just for him. How he would mark her - possessive as he is - before his relentless pursuit to make her entirely his. All with him knowing that he would shatter her and be the one to put her back together again. And then - finally - would come the press of his lips to hers.

When she gasped out her release, she couldn't believe that words had been so powerful.

Fortunately for him, she'd always been a quick study at bedsport and she rounded on him, wanting to offer him the same release. She'd always been careful - she knew that saying Dick's name, was far too risky. But as she pressed her lips to the underside of Lew's jaw, stroking and talking him to his own completion, nothing less would do.

Afterwards, the gentle press of his lips to her neck was the last thing she remembered until dawn.


	7. September Part I

_"Start talking." Dick said, sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, staring down at the wounded man, face impassive. Nix, Lip and Roe stood around the bed for the impromptu meeting. "You said Dike's crooked. What did you see?"_

" _I was down in the Pass' Grove, taking a look around."_

 _Lip's brow furrowed. "Where that third stagecoach was rumored to be held up?"_

 _Ron looked up at him, nodding on his words. "And the drover murdered, yes."_

 _Dick's jaw tightened, shaking his head. "I told you to leave that alone."_

" _Dick," Ron's voice tightened, his intense eyes diverting back. "It was the third rumored stagecoach hold-up in several weeks. All from different sources, and there's been nothing posted by the marshal service. If it didn't smell rotten before, it sure as hell does now."_

" _I don't care." Dick's voice was equally hard. "You still didn't listen."_

" _You already knew I wouldn't." That had indeed been something Dick had already known. It was usually something he always valued in Ron. Once the man had the faintest whiff of a scent, he would run it to ground. Wherever it lead. For better or worse. "That aside," Ron continued, "that wasn't where they saw me. But the Grove is a goddamn gold mine of recent activity. They weren't even trying to hide their tracks. And they shouldn't if they know no one is looking for them."_

" _Wait…," Nix ran an anxious hand through his hair, "you're suggesting that Dike is running a gang of stagecoach robbers - or knows enough about them to not go after them? That's a whole lot different than him just being crooked."_

" _I'm not just suggesting it." Ron shot back. "The robbers had a bivouac around the remains of the backwoods church that was blown to hell by the still explosion last year. That's where Dike collected his share, and paid them for another custom job. It didn't sound just like a typical robbery this time – Dike dropped off a crate of Indian weapons. At least a bow, some arrows...," he paused, shaking his head, "I couldn't make out all of what was said, but Dike was telling them to make it look good."_

" _Mounting an attack and framing somebody else this time." Lip said softly, voice heavy._

" _Exactly that." Ron confirmed. "Dike will have moved them from the church by now, but if we move soon, we can pick up their trail."_

" _You're not going anywhere." Dick's voice held no room for question. "We can only assume Dike will get a wanted poster drawn up for you. At a minimum, you can't leave until we confirm if there is one."_

 _Roe jammed his hands, fisted tight, into his pockets. "Do we really think Dike can convince Sobel of the crime to actually get a bounty placed on his head? Dike has no proof of the charge."_

 _Dick looked up at Roe curiously. "What do you know about Sobel?" T_ _he federal judge was little more than a name with a stone-cold reputation. But every act of justice enacted by the marshal service flowed directly from him._

" _I saw him on my last job." Roe's face darkened as he could still smell it burning, see Renée's smile, her blue kerchief heavy in his pocket. "At that sham of a hospital, the day before it burned down. Renée said he was there to confirm the arrival of the latest court ordered patient, but he was asking all these questions about locked doors and keys. Concerned about patients escaping, she heard him say. But then, when it went up in flames, no one got out."_

" _Shit." Nix breathed. "You didn't say all that before."_

" _It wasn't important. Everyone's still dead."_

" _But now we're suggesting mass murder." Lip's voice was sharp with restrained anger and disgust._

" _Fucking hell if that's true," Ron started, shaking his head, biting his lower lip, "I refuse to hide here, Dick. You'd better get chains."_

" _Noted." Dick gave a curt nod on the acknowledgement._

" _So, what do we have?" Nix started, looking around the group. "A federal judge admitting people to a prison disguised as a mental hospital, locking everyone in, and burning it down? And a marshal, setting up a stagecoach gang to frame an attack by Indians?"_

" _And we don't know any of that for sure." Dick cautioned._

" _The hell we don't." Ron's voice was firm with conviction. "The prejudiced son of a bitch is trying to work against the natives. Roe caught him at the end of that plan – that plan he succeeded at. And now he's starting this one with Dike – and maybe Dike helped him with the hospital, too – but we can't let him succeed with this one."_

Dick couldn't stop turning the conversation over in his mind. The implications were just staggering. How long had this been going on right under their noses? Assuming Ron was right and it was all true. And he wasn't just shot for being reckless or actually breaking the law.

Dick exhaled a long breath as he followed Nix up the steps to the general store boardwalk. The town announcement board held the usual litany of church activities and women's bazaars, but a section was reserved just for the wanted scourge of the territory. So far their luck had held, but Dick's stomach dropped to see the new wanted poster tacked front and center.

"Well, that didn't take Dike long." Nix mused absently.

"You have to admit," Dick said with a shake of his head, "it's a pretty accurate rendering. One would almost think they had met before."

"Maybe they have." The wanted ad sketch of Ron was just too eerily good for Dike to supposedly have made Ron at a distance. "You ever consider that maybe he is a disgraced marshal, dismissed from the service?"

Dick drew back to look at Nix with a bewildered look. "No. He doesn't have to tell us everything, but he wouldn't blatantly lie about something like that."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." Dick said as they turned to leave, squinting under the brim of his hat in the mid morning sun. "Besides, if they had met before - Dike would have put his name on the poster."

Even Nix couldn't deny that. The poster may have been the spitting image of Ron but there was no name. The label just read "Wanted for breaking, entering & looting." At least that was a pretty accurate crime for Ron, if he were to commit such a blatant felony.

"Wonder how much he had to pay Sobel to get the $100 bounty." Nix speculated as they walked along the boarded sidewalk.

"Assuming they're not in cahoots?"

"Oh hell, Dick." Nix shook his head with a scoff. "I didn't want to believe it true when Ron said it. Let alone now that you're considering it."

"I don't want to consider it." Dick agreed, matching Nix in shaking his head. "A crooked marshal is one thing, but if he does indeed have the judge in his pocket. Or worse, if the federal judge is running the crooked marshal, then there's no limit to what they could accomplish."

The thought was more haunting than either man wanted to admit. Marshal Norman Dike, on his own, was annoying but not overbearingly troublesome. But if he was in league with Federal Judge Herbert Sobel, they would tear up the countryside in their pursuit self-appointed justice. And now that Ron was on to Dike, and Dike had put Ron in the crosshairs...it was amazing how fast it had all become so twisted.

"Guess that just leaves us, then." There was something mischievous on Nix's voice, matched by his little smirk and the twinkle in his eye. "I bet we could put Webster on it when he reports back next week. Post him as a clerk for the judge's office. He can be enough of a dandy that Sobel shouldn't have a problem with him."

"I don't think that's quite the compliment that you do. But you do have a point." Dick paused their walk outside the telegraph office. "We'll talk with him about it when he gets back. In the meantime, there should be a message from Liebgott."

Nix shook his head with an almost fond smile. "As prickly as that kid can be, he is remarkably on time with his messages."

"He knows what's good for him." A serious edge, an all-business tone was seeping into Dick's voice. "That's also how we'll know when he's in serious trouble." He turned to head inside the office, leaving Nix on the porch to pull his cigarette case out.

The young man at the telegraph office was almost always pleasant to speak with. He could be a little short when a large flurry of messages was incoming, but Dick never had any qualms with the man. As expected, there was a message waiting for him and Dick handed over the money, tipping his hat in thanks and farewell as he walked back out onto the porch.

"Oh come now, Mr. Nixon." A short, ruddy-faced man - Wilkins, maybe - was standing next to Nix, an imploring smile on his face. "Surely, you can see the benefits of such an improvement, being from back east and all. Building a respectable theater here in Bluewater is just the next step."

"While there is something to be said for the theater, I just don't see a big market for it here in Bluewater yet." Nix blew twin streams of smoke from his nose, glancing over and nodding at Dick as he walked over. "Besides, I'm not the man with the money. Best talk to the big boss if you want patronage."

"Aw, Mr. Winters, sir." Wilkins turned his smile and squinty eyes on Dick. "Everyone speaks highly of your generosity, sir. I was just talking with Mr. Nixon about the latest endeavor of Bluewater's Citizens Chamber - building a theater. With the funding and patronage for a theater space, we could bring in talent from all over the territory. Perhaps - why just think of it! We could even get shows in from San Francisco!"

"My, that does sound quite like something. I've never been to a proper theater show myself." He looked over at Nix who rolled his eyes dismissively on another exhale of smoke. "I'll consider it, but right off, I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Nixon. Now may not be the best time."

"All I ask is that you consider it." Wilkins' face lit with hope. "And I will do my job to prove to you that there couldn't be a better time for such an investment. Thank you, gentlemen. I look forward to sharing this news with the chamber members."

"Don't be too hasty, now." Dick shook his head, a sterner warning lurking in the set of his jaw, in the tightening of his eyes. "I would prefer the members not be informed of our involvement until such time, if and when, we agree."

"Oh no, Mr. Winters - I would never -"

"Oh, we know you would never, Mr. Wilkins." Nix cut the stammering, flustered man off. "But we just want our wishes explicitly stated to lay a groundwork for any future expansion or termination of any joint-venture contract."

Wilkins nodded vigorously, despite the confusion plainly on his face. "Yes sir, Mr. Nixon. Quite rightly spoken." He nodded again, forcing a smile to his face as he looked between Dick and Nix. "Well, gentlemen, please don't let me keep you. And I look forward to hearing your decision."

"Thank you, Mr. Wilkins." Dick called after him as the shorter man started to shuffle off, still looking unsure and unsettled. "You didn't have to take it so far, Lew. I think you could have stopped at 'explicitly'."

"And let this Yale education go to waste?" Nix glanced over with that familiar smirk of his. "My father would be so disappointed, so you're right - I probably should have stopped." He raised the remaining stub of his cigarette, drawing another breath. "What's Liebgott report?"

Dick held the message out, Nix leaning over and in to read the print.

Success meeting uncle looking to strike it rich still getting suppleis taking longer tell in 3 more weeks love to Ginny J Lieb

"Well, that's encouraging." Nix said. "Misspelled 'supplies', though."

"I'll take the misspelling for something going right." Dick countered, folding the message into his pocket. "It works well that he'll be delayed coming back. We need to get this all sorted out."

* * *

"Good morning, my good man!"

Lip looked up at the greeting, watching the round, red-cheeked man approach the bar. He certainly didn't seem like the type who'd start drinking this early. Shoot, the Easy Saloon had barely been open for 10 minutes.

"Good morning." Lip smiled. "What can I get you?"

"Oh, nothing for me thank you. Godness, if I start drinking now, I'll be belly up before mid-afternoon." The man laughed at his own joke, undeterred as Lip's pleasant smile remained unchanged. "No, sir, I'm here to see Mr. Winters.

"Sorry to say there's not here, and he won't be back until much later today."

"Oh, that is most unfortunate." The man's face fell. "How about Mr. Nixon? He would likely be able to speak for Mr. Winters on this matter."

"He's out with Mr. Winters."

"Oh, how dreadful." The man swiped the bowler hat from his head, pulling a handkerchief out from his suit jacket to dab at his brow. Lip didn't think it was particularly hot yet, but this man sure was bothered.

"Can…can I do something to help you, instead?"

"No, sir. Unless you're authorized to make financial decisions for them, then no, you won't be able to help me."

"Sorry, sir." Lip shook his head. "I'm certainly not authorized to do that. But I'll be happy to take your name and let them know that you stopped by."

"Thank you, sir. I suppose that will have to do, but they should generally know to expect me. We discussed a business proposition for the town – I'm Elmer Wilkins, of the Bluehill Citizen's Chamber. They promised they would let me know if they were willing to back funding for a proper theater in this town."

Lip's brow furrowed curiously. "Well, I've never known Mr. Winters to be dishonest. If he promised that he would get back with you today, then I'm sure he will."

Wilkins' face paled, falling slack. "Well…he, er, he didn't quite promise that he'd get back with me today. His exact words – if, uh, I recall right." Again, he mopped at his brow. "Was that he would consider the proposal and let me know."

"Then, I'm sure he's still considering it." Lip did his best to offer a reassuring smile.

"It's just that…well. The Chamber was hoping to hear from him today. We're, uh, we're hoping to move forward soon."

"Well, he still won't be back until much later today. Nothing I can do to change that unfortunately, Mr. Wilkins."

"Yes, right you are." The man nodded, resigned and still downtrodden. "Well, thank you. I do appreciate your time this morning, and sorry for the bother."

"Not at all. When they get back, I'll let them know that you stopped by."

Wilkins shuffled off with more groveling apologies, and Lip was admittedly glad to see him go. He didn't envy the position the man was in. Especially if he had promised the Chamber more than Winters was ready to give. And especially if it was to sponsor a theater. Did Bluewater really need a theater? Why not a decent hospital or a schoolhouse? Miss Cartwright shouldn't have to teach in a schoolhouse with a leaky roof.

Footsteps creaking down the stairs stole his attention upward, his face souring with a frown. Speirs looked unconcerned as he stepped off the last step, moving between the mostly empty tables and chairs. At least he had his hair combed forward and an uncommon stoop to his shoulders as he approached. It would be more challenging to match his appearance to the wanted poster if anyone was of a mind.

"You're not supposed to be here." Lip said tightly, displeasure in his gaze as he looked up at Speirs.

"It's quiet still." Speirs slouched against the bartop, leaning forward on his elbows. "Who was that wiping the stream from his brow?"

"Wilkins. With the Citizen's Chamber." Lip shook his head in distant amusement. "Guess he offered Winters and Nixon a business deal, and he's itchy for an answer."

"Christ, civic duty for the successful. What's next?" They shared a sardonic smile, Speirs shaking his head. "How about a drink?"

Lip's brow creased. "Have you eaten yet this morning?"

"No. And this house-arrest is a literal pain in my ass. Surely, you won't begrudge me a slug."

"You know how it goes to your head." The corner of Speirs' mouth lifted on Lip's tease. "Besides, you barely look a day over sixteen with your hair like that."

The rare smile spread up Speirs' face, his eyes softening as he stared back at Lip. "Just shut up and pour."

"Yes, sir." Lip's face warmed with amusement as he turned around for the whiskey and two clean glasses. He poured out two small measures, nudging a glass to Speirs.

"Never seen you drink." He nodded to Lip's glass.

"I don't. Not really. But when I was little, I took ill with scarlet fever and Mama claimed it was a bottle of German schnapps that healed me."

Speirs chucked quietly. "I see – so the truth is, you just started young."

"I suppose so."

Speirs raised his glass. "Well, here's to starting young and not drinking alone."

"Starting young and not alone." Lip agreed with a warm smile, meeting the other man's gaze and clinking against his glass before tipping it back. The taste and afterburn were familiar, if unwelcome. He hadn't missed the stuff since his last drink. A cough crept up his throat as he caught Speirs' smug smirk across the bar.

"Still such a greenhorn. Least you wear the whisky flush well."

"Get out of here." Lip tried and failed to bite back an embarrassed smirk. "You're still at risk, and I won't have Winters blaming me if you're caught."

With a final smirk, Speirs pushed off the bar, leaving the empty glass behind as he shuffled off with his uncharacteristic stoop towards the 'Stay Out' door and the kitchen backroom.

xxx

"Ginny Malone!" Lily turned around with wide eyes, shocked at what she'd just heard. "You didn't."

The three women around the table giggled, and Ginny looked absolutely shameless. "He was so drunk, he wasn't going to see if a couple of his bills went missing."

"So, you just swiped them up?" Elmira asked through a mouthful of sausage.

"Yes. It was easy. He didn't even see!"

Alice giggled. "Oh, I'll have to try that sometime!"

"Don't you dare." Lily scolded, waving the greasy spatula at Alice. "None of you should be stealing from patrons at the tables, no matter how drunk they are. It won't take much to guess wrong, and then we'll have to deal with the mess it'll make." She looked back to the stove, flipping the eggs that were cooking in the sausage grease.

"You can't spoil all our fun, Lily." Ginny pouted. "If a man's dumb enough to get so drunk that he can't see getting stole from, then I say he deserves it."

Lily sighed. "You keep up that kind of talk, and I'll get Mr. Winters in here to set you straight. All the nice things he's done for us – and continues to do. He doesn't need us doing dumb things, too. Like stealing from men at the tables."

"Suppose I'll just have to have my fun elsewhere." Ginny said. "I did have an offer last night."

"No." Elmira said, shock on her voice. "From one of the men here?"

"No, from one of the patrons." Ginny's tone brightened. "Though, I'm still hoping Mr. Lipton comes around. Or even Mr. Speirs."

Lily shook her head, scooping the cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. "I'm not sure I'd hold onto those hopes too tight."

"Nothing's final until you're dead." Ginny countered, her face tight with offense as Lily approached the table. "And neither one of them are anywhere near dead yet – Mr. Speirs!" Ginny shot up from the table, a wide smile growing in her face as the door opened.

Lily spun around, shocked to see actually see Ron entering the kitchen. He…he was still supposed to be laying low upstairs. She glared at him, concerned, as he nodded in greeting.

"Good morning, ladies."

"Good morning, Mr. Speirs." Ginny preened. "Please a have a seat – Lilly just put breakfast on."

"Well, the eggs, at least." Lily couldn't quite keep the displeased note from her voice as she turned to get a clean plate. "The sausage might be a little cold. But I was on my way to bring some up."

"I'm sure it'll be fine as-is, right here." A chair scraped across the wood floor as she turned back, handing him a plate, her gaze disapproving as she met his. Goodness, but he looked so young with his hair unusually combed forward.

"Wouldn't you know," Elmira started, passing the plate of sausage patties, "your ears must have been burning, Mr. Speirs. We was just talking about you."

"Is that so?"

"That is so." Elmira's words deformed around a bite. "How come is it we've never seen you take a woman?"

"Elmira!" Alice shrieked with a giggle.

"Well, it's Ginny that wanted to know."

"Oh, it's true, Mr. Speirs." Ginny cooed, and Lily felt her blood boil to see the not-so innocent hand Ginny laid on his forearm. "You're such a looker, it'd just be a real pity."

Bewilderment lit his face as he chewed, nodding slowly, uncertainly. "Well, that's…that's certainly more than I bargained for."

"Well, when you'ready to bargain," Ginny winked, leaning forward to accentuate her ample bosom, "I'll be waiting for you."

Lily ground her teeth, watching Ginny carry on and the sweep of Ron's gaze over her. She wanted nothing more than to throw Ginny's hand off of him and lay a public claim in front of all of them. What would he do if she walked up and dropped into his lap, sealing her lips to his? Could she make him moan as she'd heard so many times before?

"Why look at Lily!" Alice gasped, giggling with newfound amusement. "She's just green with envy!"

Lily felt so hot around the ears, hoping it didn't show on her cheeks as she pursed her lips. "Green around the gills, more like. Losing my appetite at all of y'all's shameless displays." She turned around, stepping back over to the table.

It didn't help that she caught Ron's gaze, his eyes dark with wicked truth and the corner of his mouth raised ever so discreetly. "The flattery is appreciated, ladies, but my dance card is full."

Her breath caught in her chest as he held her gaze.

Elmira glared over, chewing. "Dance card?"

Ginny giggled. "Don't he just sound so proper! It's what they use at all them fancy dances – means that he's already got at least one someone. And he's turning us down."

"Yes." He said as he broke from Lily's gaze to look around the table, spearing the last bite of food on his plate.

"Oh, do tell!" Ginny asked. "I simply have to know."

He took the last bite, pushing the empty plate forward as he rose. "I had better get back upstairs before the floor gets too busy." He caught her eye again as he reached for the door handle. "Good day, ladies."

The door closed in his wake and she loosed the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"What's got you so worked up, Lily? For god's sake – don't tell me you've wet yourself over him." Elmira sneered.

"Oh, I wonder who it is," Alice said, "you think he's two-timing Mr. Lipton with Miss Cartwright?"

Lily sighed, stepping back towards the stove. "Not sure you're using that phase right."

Ginny snorted into her coffee mug. "Could you imagine if it was Mr. Lipton keeping him company at night! The common room up there would be a great place for it and we'd never know a thing – maybe that explains why we ain't seen no one."

"That would absolutely be wrong," Alice said, her face hard with disgust. "Mr. Speirs may not be so upstanding, but Mr. Lipton has Miss Cartwright to think about."

"And y'all have your jobs to start thinking about." Lily cut in. "Hurry up and finish. It's time to go dress."

* * *

Goodness, but she hadn't been able to stop thinking about this morning. How desperate she'd been to kiss Ron right there in the kitchen. How her heart ached to just tell him. To say nothing of the hope that yearned for him to return the sentiment. She sighed as she raised her foot up to rest on her vanity stool, pulling down her garter and stocking.

She would love to know what he had been thinking during the exchange. It brought a smile to her face to remember his flash of surprise when Elmira asked her question. She didn't imagine many people got to surprise Ron Speirs, yet Elmira had done it.

She raised her other leg, rucking up the hem of her dress. The perfunctory knock on her door startled her, shaking her from her musing. It probably shouldn't have, but she wasn't really expecting anyone given the late hour. She hadn't seen Lew in several hours, and Ron hadn't paid her a nighttime visit since he'd been shot.

"Come in." Reaching for her garter, she shimmied it down her leg as the door opened and closed with it's familiar creaking hinge. She looked over, her heart leaping to see Ron standing there lit by the long shadows from her lamp. He had tamed his hair back into something resembling his usual appearance and her fingers itched to muss it up.

His eyes fixed on the pointed display of her leg propped up on the vanity stool. She couldn't help but smirk at the familiar hunger lurking in his gaze and she ran her hand up her stocking clad skin to disappear under the raised hem of her skirt. She toyed with the garter in the other hand, making a show for him.

"What did you think you were doing this morning?" She asked, letting the garter fall down beside her foot. Her free hand joined the other, drifting up her thigh to the end of her stocking. "You looking for trouble?"

"I've already found trouble. Hiding out here doesn't change that."

She huffed a breathy laugh, watching his gaze darken as she rolled her stocking down, exposing the smooth skin of her leg. "Well, 'trouble' hasn't graced us with his presence since that day he charged the floor looking for you. Though, I did get a look at your wanted poster. It doesn't do you justice." She pulled the stocking free, bending over further to accentuate her curves as she gathered it up. "Do you think I could sneak out and write your real crime on the poster – owning first-hand knowledge that the marshal is a dirty, rotten scoundrel."

"And you accuse me of looking for trouble?" A faint undercurrent of amusement rumbled in his words. "But not tonight. Tonight, I have a right to wrong. A lie that's lingered since breakfast."

"I didn't lie to you."

"No, not to me. You couldn't have hid your jealousy from me if you tried." She raised her eyes to look at his face, gazing up at him through her lashes. With her leg exposed, body bent over, and the view he had down the front of her dress, there wasn't much hidden from him.

"They're the ones I want to be jealous." She said suddenly. "Want them to know they can't have you because you're mi-"

"Come here."

She rolled upright, lowering her leg and not breaking her gaze from him as she walked closer. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood rushing with heated anticipation. It had been so long since she'd had him so close. Her hand settled flat to his chest as her other rose, thumbing against the top-most closed button on his shirt. She could feel her body start to grow warm for him, her mouth watering as she looked up at him, whispering, "Let me show you."

She didn't voice the rest of it. _Let me show you how I love you. How much I want you._

Her hands drifted down the contours of his chest as she lowered to drop to her knees - until he snagged her wrist. She froze, staring up at him, suddenly uncertain. There was no mistaking the desire in his hooded eyes or the breathy part of his lips. But why was he stopping her? He never stopped her when she went to her knees.

Without a word, he pulled her up and she went with him, ever willing to bend to his wishes. He held her wrist firmly, his thumb stroking a hard pattern. "Not tonight." Heat coiled in her belly at the rough husk in his voice as he stepped towards her.

Leveraging all his weight, he pushed her back and she had no choice but to move with him. Her eyes blazed with a hungry wildfire to match his own, gasping excitedly as the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed. His other arm wrapped around her waist, taking to the laces of her dress.

"Look at me." He said, the command unmistakable. "Look away and I will stop."

She broke his command only twice before he brought her to sweet, sweet relief and his intense, quicksilver green eyes held her all way through.

She clung to him, wordless sounds on her lips as he moved inside her now. Nothing had ever felt so right, so damn fucking good. She bit her lip on a moan, the panting rush of his breaths against her cheek growing to a fever pitch. He groaned low and obscene as he stilled, deep insider her. Her ragged breathing matched his as he slumped down, his head falling to rest against her shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her neck. Her fingers carded through his damp hair, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. God, but this man would be the death of her.

"Stay." Her voice sounded so loud in the silence that had descended. "Please stay."

"I shouldn't." She hated when he used such an inscrutable tone - especially when they had both been so mindless minutes prior. And so intimate tonight - holding his gaze. Her heart ached at the memory, tightening her hold on him, desperate for him to stay. To tell him everything.

"Ron, please." She didn't care how desperate, how needy she sounded. "I lo-"

"I need to go." He swiftly pressed a kiss to her forehead as he broke from her embrace.

She heaved a deep breath, watching through wet eyes as he righted his clothes with efficient movements. No man had ever been worth crying over before but as the door closed behind him, her tears fell with abandon.


	8. September Part II

Dick Winters had always found something comforting about singing a hymn. In the voices lifted up in harmony and praise for the Almighty Father. In the words offering hope and salvation. While he often found the sermons thought provoking, they were fallible by man's interpretation. But there was just something so pure about hymns.

The community of the Bluewater Church had been an unexpected jewel in his westward relocation. In fact, it had confounded them at first that a saloon operator could be such a generous and wholesome man. Reverend Clark had taken it upon himself to have several conversations with Dick when he first started attending services. Looking out for the welfare of the congregation, the reverend had said. But after the fourth visit, Dick had apparently passed whatever test he had been given, and the church community embraced him with such warmth.

He pretended not to notice, but the church ladies had been all atwitter at his marriage prospects for their daughters. In the beginning, he'd had to accept and fend off so many requests to call for afternoon tea. Fortunately, most of that chatter had died away now. It had helped when Alice started attending services with him.

Sunday mornings were the one morning that he didn't ask anyone to rouse early, not even to prepare breakfast or ready the saloon for the day. But at 7:35 am every Sunday, Dick and Alice would meet at the base of the stairs and set off for the church.

This morning had been no different.

Alice sat beside him now on the pew, gently closing her hymnal. Reverend Clark pronounced the benediction, sending them forth into the world for another week of doing the Lord's neighborly will.

A peaceful smile lingered on Alice's face as they rose. "Oh, that was lovely. I very much enjoyed Reverend Clark's sermon. Forgiveness is such a good choice."

"It's a hard thing to do." Dick agreed as they started to file out of the pew and towards the doors at the back of the church. "It's good to be reminded of it."

"And how did God manage to put everything so pretty? 'To error is human; to forgive, divine.' It's so simple and pretty to say."

"I think it's err." He smiled gently. "'To err is human.' And I'm pretty sure that came from a poet."

Alice shook her head, looking over with an impressed air. "How come you to know just everything, I'll never know."

"What I know doesn't hold a candle to so many others. Don't get Mr. Speirs talking about classical history – unless you're looking to fall asleep." His tease drew a giggle from the younger woman. "The libraries back east are so full of books, it's impossible to know everything."

"What's a library?" She asked, stepping out into the bright morning sun. "Do they sell books? Oh! Good morning, Marshal Dike."

"Good morning, Miss Alice." Dike approached, tipping his hat in polite greeting. "Mr. Winters."

"Marshal."

"Splendid service this morning, wouldn't you agree?" Dike said.

"Just lovely." Alice simpered as she bat her eyes. "I was saying the same to Mr. Winters just now. The sermon on forgiveness. It got me thinking."

"Surely, you need no one's forgiveness. An angel like yourself."

Dick fought to hide the look of surprise that threatened to flash across his face. He wasn't aware Alice and Dike ever had ever met, let alone were on such…overt terms.

"That's very kind of you, marshal." A blush colored Alice's cheeks as she stared back at him.

"Say, Mr. Winters. Would you allow me to call on Miss Alice here soon? Take her for a nice walk some sunny afternoon?"

Alice smiled excitedly. "Oh, Mr. Winters please!"

Dick's smile tightened. "So long as she's back by starting time, she doesn't need my permission."

"No?" Something in Dike's gaze sharpened. "Are you not her owner and keeper?"

Dick stiffened, offense flaring up. "I'm just her employer. She's not anymore beholden to me than that."

"Oh, I'm not sure that's entirely true." Dike looked over at Alice with an inviting smile. "You looked a little parched, angel. Why don't you go get a couple glasses of lemonade?"

"Of course. Mr. Winters, would you like one, too?"

"No, thank you." He watched Alice trot over to the table of ladies serving before turning back to Dike. "Your insinuations are not appreciated. Especially in front of her."

"She didn't seem to be upset by it."

"Then let me be clear so you don't upset her. I did not buy her. She was not sold to me. None of my employees are under any sort of similar debt. If they stop adequately doing their jobs, then they will be removed."

"That's the thing with women, though." Dike paused, looking back at Dick with an assessing gaze. "Have you ever had a woman?"

Dick froze at the impudence of the question. And outside a church of all places.

Dike continued, undeterred. "Hmm, well. Even if you have – here's the thing with women. In case you don't know. Just because they aren't for sale doesn't mean they can't be bought. And you don't have to run 'em spreading their legs to find out that's true. Even that uppity one you have – Lily. Don't think that she wouldn't drop you like horseshit for a better offer."

Dick just stared back at the other man, disgusted with the turn of conversation. "I can't prevent you from seeing Alice, especially if it's what she wants. But you will find your presence and money unwelcome on the saloon floor."

Dike grinned gleefully. "No one says no to money, Dick. Everyone has a price that, at some point, makes even the most stalwart of principles seem insignificant."

Alice's returning giggle cut over the general din of conversation around them. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it! Mrs. Anderson noticed my new gloves. Said that they were just the prettiest."

Dike turned towards her, accepting the cup of lemonade. "She's right, you know. Your gloves are just the prettiest – but not so pretty as you." He looked back to over to Dick, the pleasant smile lingering as his eyes sharpened. "If you need to return to the saloon, Mr. Winters, please go ahead. I'll see to Miss Alice's safe return after we've enjoyed our lemonade."

"If Alice is agreeable."

"Oh, yes. Very much! Thank you, Mr. Winters."

Dick inclined his head, hand brushing his hat brim in farewell before he turned to walk back through the town.

He had never been so troubled after leaving a Sunday morning service.

Stomping his boots on the step leading up to the back door, he pulled it open to inhale the fresh aroma of strong coffee. He wasn't quite sure what to expect of the Sunday morning scene in the backroom kitchen, but the sight of Nix with his damp dark hair in the bright morning light as he sat at the table, reading over the daily newspaper with a steaming mug of coffee instantly soothed him.

Nix looked up with a teasing smile in his brown eyes. "Look what the cat dragged in. Out all night, huh?"

Usually, Dick would have been happy to banter in return, but he only offered a weary shake of his head. "Not this morning, Lew."

The smile fell from the other man's face, eyes widening with concern. "I should have known better – you don't have that normal post-prayer glow. What happened? Did Alice not go with you?"

"She's with Marshal Dike."

"Dike? She didn't get arrested, I hope."

"No." Dick reached for the coffee pot and a cup, pouring a steaming drink. "But he did ask permission to court her."

"Well, isn't that something."

"Insinuated that I purchased her. Owned her. That, even then, she could still be bought – loyalties turned. Her and Lily."

"What…that, that doesn't make any sense. We didn't buy them. We don't own them, especially not in that sense."

"I told Dike that."

"Then why would he still talk about trying to turn them against us?"

"He didn't say that in so many words."

"But it was implied?"

"Heavily."

Nix cast his eyes to the ceiling, his dark brows shifting as he considered the floorboards. "You think Dike knows about our house arrest patient up there?"

Dick hadn't wanted to admit it. That maybe Dike was threatening him – warning him – that he knew Speirs was here. That one of his girls was passing along information that risked his operation. Maybe even risked the Company itself. His stomach soured as he took another sip of coffee.

"I don't know what Dike knows." Dick said quietly, voice heavy. "Or to the extent that he knows what he thinks he knows."

"Shit." Nix groaned, sitting back in his chair, exhaling an unsettled sigh. "Think I might start carrying a key to the Winchester cabinet."

"Think I might lay an emergency haversack in the storage cabinet out back."

Nix nodded, looking back over. "He didn't give you any indication of timeline did he?"

"No."

"Hmm." Nix rose from the table, picking up his mug and abandoning the newspaper. "Then I best go get that key."

"Bring mine down, too?"

"Of course." Nix raised his coffee cup in a salute as he moved for the door to the main saloon and the staircase that lead up to their rooms.

Dick took another sip of his coffee, making a mental list of everything that should go in the haversack. Money. Bullet magazines. Blanket. Tins of food.

The door squeaked on its hinge, breaking him from his list making. Lily closed the door behind her, walking with uncharacteristic hesitance, hands wringing nervously in front of her.

"Lily?" He asked gently, meeting her eyes that were heavy with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing with me." She said quietly. "It's Ginny that we need to talk about."

"Is she alright? Has her tooth gotten worse?"

"No, it's not that. She's...well, she's not physically ill. But she's…," she sighed, rubbing at her arm anxiously, "she's in the way. With a child."

Surprise flashed across Dick's face at the news. "I thought that…there was tea -"

"She hasn't been taking it regular with the pain in her tooth."

He sighed, a conflicting mix of frustration and guilt rising in him. "How is she?"

"She's scared. Terrified is probably the better word. She doesn't want to risk anything to get rid of it, but knows that she can't work here anymore. Says she wants to go home to her family."

"I didn't know she still had family."

"I didn't, either. None of the girls did. Says her parents have a farm in Kansas. Outside Abilene."

"Well, I'll be." Dick shook his head, unable to believe the bevy of news he'd just been hit with. On top of everything else, this was certainly not what he had been expecting when she walked in. He looked back up at her with something of a shy, embarrassed smile. "This is all a first for me, you'll have to forgive me."

"It's a first for her, too."

He took a sip of his coffee before looking back at her. "Well, I suppose there's only one thing we can do."

Her face fell, disappointment evident. "Dick, please – I didn't think you'd – "

"Tell her that I'll book passage on the 9 o'clock eastbound train tomorrow morning."

She stared back, as if unable to believer her ears. "You'd…you'd do that for her? You're not going to turn her out?"

"Turn her out?" His brow pinched. "Is that what happens to girls who…?" He didn't voice the rest, reading the obvious answer in her face. "No, I'm not going to turn her out. She clearly can't stay here, so I'll be glad to put her on a train home. Heck, I feel responsible and I didn't even…" He felt the tips of his ears turning red. Why couldn't Nix have waited just a few more minutes before going upstairs? He was better versed in these matters of the world.

"You are too good to be true, Dick Winters. Whoever you give your heart to will be truly lucky, indeed." She shook her head, smiling warmly. "I'll let Ginny know that she's homeward bound tomorrow. Thank you – that. That offer is the most generous I've ever heard. She will be overjoyed – thank you again. From me, and her. I'll, uh…I'll be sure to take her out the back tomorrow so as to not disturb anything."

"That's not necessary. I'll...I'll go with you."

xxx

True to his word, the next morning found the three of them standing on the platform. Tears of disbelief wet Ginny's eyes as Lily held her hand.

"I…I'm so sorry this happened, sir." Ginny stammered through her tears. "And this ticket…and you being here…it just ain't fitting."

"It's more than fitting for anyone who believes in simply human decency." He said with a gentle smile. "I do regret that we're parting under such circumstances. I…uh, I always thought – hoped, even – that I'd lose you girls to marriage proposals, but I'm just as glad to see you off to home."

"Thank you, sir." She shook her head, squeezing Lily's hand. "I don't know how else to say it."

"You're welcome, Ginny. Take care of yourself." He held out his hand, extending an envelope. "I hope this helps ease your journey and your return home."

"Oh, sir, please…," she shakily took the envelope, folding back the flap, "this…it's – thirty dollars?! Sir, no, please – I can't rob you like this."

"Accepting a gift is not stealing."

Ginny stared back at him, love written plainly on her face. "You're a real fairy tale prince, Mr. Winters. I ain't never met one before, and I'm not like to ever again. It's a shame you ain't married yet."

Lily squeezed her hand gently. "Now that kind of talk is like to get you in more trouble." She smiled warmly at the younger woman. "Good luck to you – take care. I hope your parents welcome you with open arms."

Ginny smiled shyly. "My ma will be happy to see me. I'm not sure about my pa. He might just tan my hide. But…I'd take it to be home." She looked back at Dick, again thanking him profusely and sharing parting words.

The whole scene warmed Lily's heart, giving her hope that Dick would always be on her side, no matter what happened. Just like he was doing for Ginny here.

She crossed her arms against her chest as Ginny started to move for the train, showing her ticket to the conductor. She took the steps up, waving back at them and Lily raised her hand in an answering wave.

She sighed, still amazed. "You don't know what you've done for her – helping her like this, at a time like this."

"You keep saying that, and you really shouldn't. I haven't done anything more than any good Christian should do."

"Well, there may be lots of Christians in the world - but you really just don't understand how few good Christians there are in the world." She looked over at him with a fond smile. "You have the biggest heart of any man I've met – certainly more different than most."

A faint blush started to grow on his cheeks as his lips quirked in obvious embarrassment.

She chuckled softly. "It's alright – you don't need to say anything to that. It doesn't have to be anything more than what it's always been."

The steamwhistle cut through the air, drawing their attention back to the train car and offering up waves as it started to chug out of the station.

She couldn't ever remember feeling so satisfied by giving help to others. Of course, it wasn't actually her help – none of this would have been possible without the man standing next to her. How could she ever possibly hope to repay him, or thank him for everything that he had done for her?

She would forever be in his debt.

* * *

 _Five Years Ago_

The bitter cold had been seeping in through the walls and cracks of her room all day. The snow fell in thick sheets the night before and left behind the most piercing cold. She'd spent the whole day nearly huddled in the backroom kitchen, wrapped in as many layers as she owned, tending to her duties. And now that it was night, she sat in bed, snuggled in the bedcovers with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

The stove in the corner was doing a decent job of staving off the brunt of the bitterness, but it was still frigid. If there was any, one good thing to say about her previous place of employ, it was that there had always been body heat to share on nights like tonight. But she would gladly take sitting here alone in the cold every night for the rest of her life than go back to that god forsaken place.

A soft knock sounded on her door, making her brow furrow. She'd completely lost track of the hour, but it could only be Winters or Nixon. She shuffled out of bed, keeping the blanket close, guessing it was probably Nixon. The man seemed more unconcerned about such taboo things as late night visits. She opened the door, surprised to find that she was wrong.

"Hello, Dick." She said softly, watching a small, awkward smile grow on his face.

"Hello, Lils. I was about to turn in for the night, and wanted to check that you were staying warm enough. Or if there was anything else you need…."

"Oh, goodness." Ten months being around him and she was still easily overwhelmed by the man's thoughtfulness. "I think so...I - I'll look at my firewood. Come in. And close the door? I don't want to lose what little warmth I have."

She turned for her wood bucket near the stove, hearing the door close softly.

"I'm glad it's warm in here." Dick's voice was soft. "My room is quite colder than this, so I'd say we did right when we chose rooms."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you have enough firewood for your stove." She bent to sort through the various small logs. "I have at least a few left, I think."

She didn't want to outright admit that she didn't know her numbers. From the look on his face, though, he already seemed to to know that. But he was such a gentleman, she knew he wouldn't call her out.

"Yes, it's at least a few." He answered with a small, reassuring smile. She relaxed under his gaze, finding herself in awe of him not for the first time. He really was something else.

"Thank you. I...I know you must know, but I like that you didn't ask. You've been so kind to me. Kinder than any man has ever been."

The embarrassed flush that overtook his cheeks in the firelight was so endearing. She had noticed that he was handsome, but it was plainly pronounced now in the low light that caught in the russet color of his hair and the sky blue of his eyes. "I owe you so much, Dick, and could never hope to repay you….I just…." Words had never been a strong suit, so she stepped forward, cupping her hand on the underside of his chin and placing a kiss to his opposite cheek.

His skin felt coarse from the scrape of stubble and the irritation of a razor blade, but she didn't want to stop. The first kiss turned into a second, and a third, the tip of her tongue skimming along his jawline as he neither pulled her in or pushed her away. She nuzzled along his skin, feeling his pulse jump and hearing his breaths grow heavy as her teeth nipped gently. Her hand settled gently to the inside of his thigh, trailing up to the bulge in the front of his trousers.

A groan pushed past his lips. "You don't need to."

"It's not a matter of need to." Her words flitted across his skin as she cupped him firmly. His hand rose swiftly, pulling hers back and away from him. His breath came in tight draws as he held her hand and she stared back at him, trying not to feel the sting of rejection. Had she done something wrong? No man had ever stopped her before. It just...it didn't make sense why he would say no.

He looked down to her hand still in his, raising it slowly to press a kiss to her knuckles. "It's...it's not that you're not pretty." He said softly. "It's just...not my way."

She couldn't say what came over her as she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him close. He returned her embrace, feeling her just cling to him.

It was the first night she'd ever shared a bed with a man fully clothed and done nothing more than just fall asleep.

When she woke the next morning, snuggled under the covers, tucked against the warm contours of his body, she vowed to spend the rest of her life trying to live up to all that he had given her.


	9. September Part III

Nix walked across the saloon floor, scratching at the back of his head with a yawn.

"What are you doing up so early?" Lip's gentle voice pounded against his skull like rocks.

"Oh, I thought I might make myself useful." A careful glance around told him that there probably wasn't much to be done. The chairs were all lowered and placed around the tables, ready for the day's patrons to arrive. Lip was at the bar, wiping down the polished wood, and lining up the glassware. It wasn't quite time for the faro dealers to arrive even though opening time was less than thirty minutes away.

Nix yawned again, squinting back over at Lip, watching him line up the bottles. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing. You closed last night. You shouldn't have to open this morning."

"I wasn't supposed to work closing last night. But Roe looked like he could use a good night's sleep."

"True," Nix agreed, "he did look a little worse for wear."

Lip hummed in agreement. "He'll take this evening's shift, though.

"Good." Nix looked the other man over. "Because now you look a little worse for wear."

He offered a wry smile. "Part of the job sometimes."

"Boy, isn't that the truth. But I'm glad you were on hand last night, though – helped keep everyone calm and focused on spending."

"Roe would have done equally well with the incident." Lip shrugged off the comment as Nix shook his head with a soft laugh.

"Never thought I'd see the day we had a naked man running through here."

Lip chuckled quietly. "Me neither, sir. But it makes for a good story."

"Good story, huh?" Dick's voice carried out across the saloon, drawing both of their attention towards the front doors that had just swung open as he entered. "What did I miss?"

Nix looked at Lip incredulously. "You didn't tell him at breakfast?"

"Lip wasn't at breakfast." Dick said.

Lip looked hesitant but not regretful. "He doesn't know that I covered the shift last night."

"Wait," Dick looked at Lip in disbelief, "you closed down last night and now you're opening up this morning? Carwood, you're going to give yourself pneumonia if you keep running yourself so thin."

"Sorry, sir – Roe looked like he could use last night's sleep more than me. I promise I'll sack out tonight. Roe can have his usual shift."

"That's more like it." Dick agreed with a nod, looking at Nix from under the brim of his hat. "Now, what was that story from last night?"

"Oh, well, we uh – we had a naked man charge the floor last night."

"A naked man." Dick chuckled softly, eyes wide with surprise. "I bet that turned some heads."

"He came through hooting and hollering about something. I knew he was drun-"

" _Richard Winters! Lewis Nixon! Carwood Lipton!_ " Norman Dike's voice punctured the air from outside, his yells audible through the closed doors and windows. _"You are all under arrest for harboring a fugitive of the law!"_

Nix grumbled, raking another hand through his hair. "Knew I got out of bed too soon."

Dike's voice continued as Dick moved around the bar, past Nix. " _Y'all have one minute to come out with your hands up! Leave any weapons you may be carrying inside. Don't think about trying to sneak out the back with the fugitive - we've got the place surrounded and we will shoot anyone who tries to escape!_ "

"Well, we can't let that happen." Dick calmly said, motioning over. "Here, Nix - take the other side of this table."

 _"Now it's three-quarter's a minute to come out, or we will start shooting!_ "

"I think he just likes to hear himself talk." Nix quipped, grunting as he and Dick upended the nearest large round table onto its side.

"Lip - grab the rifle from behind the bar." Dick ordered, looking over to see the man already in motion before angling to look up the stairs. "Roe! Speirs! Get yourselves down here!"

"Dick?" Lily's confused voice drifted down from the upper landing. "What's going -"

"Lily!" Dick called out, watching Nix move for the locked rifle cabinet on the wall, fumbling for his key. "Get Roe and Speirs down here now! Get the girls together and come down - stay low!"

" _Half minute, now. Don't try to be a hero, Dick! It won't end well!_ "

Nix handed Dick one of the Model 73 Winchesters, extra magazines, and a gun belt, already loaded with a Peacemaker and extra bullets. Nix slapped his own belt around his waist, throwing the buckle before reaching for a rifle.

"They're going to come at us from all sides." Dick said, voice all business. "We've got to clear the backway out. It's closest to the livery."

"What the hell?" Speirs' voice sounded overhead as rushed footfalls took to the stairs. Roe was hastily dressed and his hair still mussed from sleep, but his eyes were alert as he followed the taller man down the stairs.

Nix pumped a round into the chamber of his rifle. "Dike knows that we've been hiding you. And we're about to get the joint shot up because we won't let him arrest us."

"What do we need to do?" Speirs voice was calm with a lethal edge.

" _Quarter till! I better see that door opening_."

"Ron," Dick said, "you, Carwood and Gene take the back. Clear the way, and get to the livery. Horses enough for all of us. Grab the house take from last night and leave it."

"Sure thing." Roe said, nodding as Speirs just moved off for the door leading to the backroom of the saloon, grabbing a Winchester from the cabinet and following Lip.

Nix sighed, looking anxiously at the windows. "And we're gonna stay here and keep Dike busy, aren't we?"

"Exactly. Fire back to hopefully keep them from discovering that the others have snuck out the back."

The high-pitched voices of the girls sounded on the top landing, all in various states of protest. Complaints and whines, all undercut by Lily's reassuring words trying to usher them downstairs.

"And cover for the girls." Dick added. "We'll have to get them from the stairs to the -"

" _Your time's up!_ " Dike sounded just a little too happy. " _I'm sad it has to go this way but you brought this on yourself. OK - go ahead on!_ "

Wood splintered and glass shattered as the bullets started to fly. Dick and Nix dropped back to take cover against the upturned table as the girls' screams filled the air. Bullets continued to pelt the building - chewing up furniture, the glass bottles, the piano - whatever they hit.

Dick stood up, swinging the rifle to his shoulder, firing off a series of quick, clean shots before dropping back down. The barrage of bullets from outside faltered for the briefest of seconds before resuming, the girls renewing their frightened cries.

Nix swung sideways with his rifle, aiming for the nearest window, loosing a few rounds. "Lily! All of you get down here!"

"I'm too scared to move!"

"Is he crazy?!"

"Come on!" Lily's voice urged. "We have to get down there, or we stand a better chance of getting shot!"

More whimpers and cries sounded as the stairs creaked, telltale of footfalls. Dick raised just above the table again, squeezing off more rounds through the distorted glass windows. Splinters of wood shot up from the table and he jerked back, drawing the rifle close.

"Nix!" He hollered over the meley, looking over to the stairs to see the girls coming, ducking low in various states of panic. The table shook some more as bullets pinged off the wood and Nix pulled back around, reloading a new magazine in his rifle. Those last shots were just too close. "Roll the table - I'll cover." Dick reached for another magazine of bullets, loading up.

"Sure - on 3!" Nix answered, counting down quick before starting to push the table. Dick swung the rifle around, pumping off a spray of shots - centering on a shadow at the front-right window. An answering cry of pain went up outside as Nix continued to roll the table, moving other furniture out of the way.

"Girls! Come on!" Dick encouraged, ducking back behind the table as the three women scrambled to get behind it, tears and whimpers just audible as they moved. Nix fired off another set of bullets as the girls huddled.

"Come on now!" Dick called out as the table shook and splintered again. "Towards the back door." Another quick reload and Nix started to roll the table back the other way, towards the back of the saloon and the door that the other three were supposed to have cleared.

" _Dick! Come on, now – be reasonable!_ _You can't really expect to win this. We've got you surrounded, and enough bullets to last days if we have to_."

Another shadow – two sets of shadows – approached the windows. Nix wheeled around the table, aiming for the window on the left. Dick took aim at the window on the right, their shots ringing out in unison as the shadows fell away with grunted cries.

"We can't kill them all." Nix said, exasperated. "We need some of them to keep shooting back and keep Dike busy." He looked back to the girls, huddled together just in the table's shadow. "Lily – go check the back. See if the others have cleared the way."

"Oh - ok." She nodded, shaky and uncertain, eyes wide as she started to move slowly towards the closed door.

Nix spun back around, firing off more rounds, to join Dick who leaned around the table's edge to get a clear shot. Nix's rifle clicked empty and he ducked back to load another magazine. He pumped the action to load a round and looked up just in time to see. His. World. Stop.

Dick's head flew back under the striking impact, hat flying off his head. His body went down, crashing against the wood floor, rifle clattering beside him. The sound of Alice and Elmira's screams were second to Nix's own panicked voice. He could only repeat a litany of Dick's name, a hand gripping his shoulder, the other on his torso, as he stared down at the other man's wide, stunned gaze.

"I'm alright. I'm alright." Dick's eyes focused on Nix's, creasing with worry. "Am I alright?"

"Yes." Nix barely heard his own voice. "Yes, you feel alright?"

"Yes." Dick breathed, sitting up. "Quit looking at me like that."

Nix helped Dick to his knees, trying to shake off his own terror as he reached for his forgotten rifle. He took aim and unloaded the entire magazine at the front of the saloon, focusing on the already broken glass panes. He didn't know if he hit anybody, but it made him feel better after seeing Dick go down.

"They're gone." Lily's voice drew him back, looking over as he ducked down to reload. "There's no one back there."

"Good – that's good." Dick breathed, looking over at Nix. "Come on – let's get out of here." The shots continued to ring out, pining off the table and surroundings, as they rolled the table, still providing cover. The girls moved with them, gasping and whimpering as Dick reached for his hat, firing off more covering shots.

"Alright, after you – go!" Dick encouraged, ushering the girls through the back door. Nix stood up from the table alongside Dick and together, they emptied the last of their magazines in a tight pattern through the shattered glass.

"It won't take them long to figure out what happened." Nix said as they moved through the back door, locking it behind him.

The peace and quiet of the kitchen was staggering by comparison. It looked just as undisturbed as always, with hardly any of the window panes broken. The back door was even closed.

"Out the back way. We can't stay here." Dick didn't even sound fazed as he moved through the kitchen, herding the girls towards the back door. "It's alright, Alice – we'll get you out of here."

The younger girl hiccupped through heaving sobs. "I…I thought they'd shot you."

"No," he flashed a reassuring smile, "they missed."

"But your hat…" Alice looked up at the obvious bullet hole punched through the felt.

"It's just a hat."

"You were shot?!" Lily's voice was heavy with concern as she looked at Dick.

"Come on," Nix encouraged, reaching for Lily's arm to guide her towards the door. "We have to keep moving. And yes – he was shot at, but they missed. Just hit his hat."

"My god. Who's doing this? Why are they shooting at us?" Her questions carried them out the back door into the sunlight. "Oh, god!" Her eyes widened, trying to break from Nix's grasp at the sight of several dead bodies strewn about. All of them looked to have been killed with several well-aimed shots.

Nix wouldn't let it be said that Speirs and Lip weren't efficient. "Hey, hey." He tried to soothe, tightening his hold in support. "Hold it together just a little longer. Till we get away from here."

Alice and Elmira sobbed close by as Dick tore the storage cabinet open, slinging a haversack on his back as he scanned up and down the back alley. A throng of horses rounded the corner, mounted with three riders and coming at them with full steam.

"Thank God there were enough." Nix said.

"I only count six." Dick said as the horses slowed to a stop with Speirs, Lip and Roe at the reins.

"This was all he had." Lip sounded out of breath as he handed the reins for a riderless horse to Dick.

"It'll have to do." He took the reins, stepping up into the saddle and swinging a leg over. "Come on!"

Lily looked at the girls, reaching over to pull Alice forward. "Go with Lip – come on, now. Elmira – with Gene."

Nix stepped up to the last horse, swinging into the saddle. "Then you're with me, Lily."

xxx

She rushed over, holding out a hand as he helped pull her up and she slotted into place behind him with her arms around his belly.

Dick was already moving out, haversack gripped tight in his free hand as he urged his horse forward in a gallop. The others followed and she gripped Lew tighter, holding on as the saloon faded in a cloud of their dust. They rode until the familiar roads of Bluewater yielded to the great expanse beyond – the stagecoach road and the untamed countryside.

She couldn't say for how long they rode. Every so often, Dick would look back – whether confirming they were all still together, or watching for the shooters to come after them, she couldn't say. Maybe it was both. At one point she craned her neck to look over her shoulder, not seeing anyone behind them.

Had they made good on the getaway?

"Stop! Stop. Slow up." Dick's voice rose up over the thudding of horse hooves as they all gradually slowed, looking amongst each other. "We need to regroup. Come on, form up." He swung down from his horse effortlessly as the others started to dismount.

"Thanks, Lew." Lily said quietly as he helped her slide down out of the saddle. She crossed her arms protectively against the front of her chest as she moved for the circle forming up between the milling horses.

Dick looked conflicted, worried even, as he looked between everyone. "I'll give Dike credit for that one. None of us saw that coming. We should count ourselves lucky that we made it this far. Is anyone hurt?"

A general chorus of negatives rose up but Dick sent Speirs a particularly sharp, dubious glare which the other man returned. "No, Dick. Honest to God."

"Good, then." Dick looked between everyone else. "That's a good place to start. But now comes the hard part. I said that none of us saw that coming - but that's not entirely true. Dike approached me a couple weeks ago, and at the time – I didn't quite know what the conversation was. But I see it now for what it was – he was bragging. He was showing off that we were vulnerable and that he had inside information."

"Inside information?" Speirs echoed. "Who?"

"Ladies?" Dick asked, looking between the three of them as all of their eyes widened, aghast.

"Dick! You can't –"

"I would never!"

"How dare you!"

Nix cut over their protesting, looking at Dick in shock. "How can you say that?"

"Was it one of you four, then?" Dick looked sharply between the men. "Dike knew that Speirs was there. How else would he have known that unless someone told him?"

"He came down last week." Lily spoke up, not sparing Ron a glance. "He wandered right through the saloon floor and into the backroom."

Dick fixed his glare on the slightly taller man. "If you risked –"

"He didn't." Lip firmly interjected. "I was at the bar when he came down. There was no one of suspect that knew him at the time."

"Which leaves you?" Dick look at Lip, unconvinced. "And Lily?"

"And Elmira and Alice." Lily added. "They were also in the backroom with me."

"Then it could have been any one of you." The hurt of betrayal blazing in Dick's eyes brought Lily to a standstill as a cold sweat raced down her spine. She'd never seen him so worked up before.

She forced a hard swallow, suddenly unsure about her future. "Dick, I would never – I couldn't possibly betray – if I was gonna turn on you, I would have by now -"

"Well I wouldn't either!" Alice cried over her.

"And it certainly wasn't me!" Elmira insisted.

Dick looked between all three of them, the resolution of a firm decision in his gaze. "Then you all stay here. Go back to Bluewater, or you can go somewhere else. The law shouldn't be after you all."

Lily's heart stopped, the sounds of Elmira and Alice yelling, accusing, swearing faded under the tumult of her thoughts. Dick couldn't possibly give her the boot – she hadn't done anything! She would never turn on him, or any of them! She looked to Lew with wide, pleading eyes dismayed the find that he steadfastly refused to look at her. Same with Lip. Same with Ron. She wanted to yell at them all, furious and hurt. Tears stung her eyes as she could find nothing to say.

Elmira continued to shout. "And just where are we supposed to go, hmm? You dragged us all the way out here and now we're just supposed to find our own way? You act all high and mighty, Dick Winters, but you're just a fucking scoundrel. Like every other man!"

Dick turned from the group, stepping over to his horse and reaching in the haversack slung across his saddle. He returned with a folded wad of cash, holding it out. "This should help get you started in whatever you choose to do."

Lily's stomached rotted to look at the money. A final business deal. A dismissal fee.

Elmira stomped over, snatching it quickly. "It's the fucking least you can do, bastard."

"We need to keep moving." Dick looked unconcernedly at the others, moving back to his horse without another parting word. A heavy reluctance hung in the movements of the other four men, but no one dared say anything against the major's decision.

Panic started to grip Lily as they mounted up. They really were going to abandon her here in the woods.

"Dick – wait! Please!" She looked desperately at the others, a tear sliding free. "Lewis, please – you know that I wouldn't! Ron – please! You can't believe it!"

Ron cut her with a hard, unsympathetic look. "Dick has his reasons."

Another tear rolled down her cheek, defeated as her heart broke. The men turned their horses, urging them into cants as they took off through the trees.

"Go on - get outta here!" Elmira yelled after them. "Shitbag bastards – all of you!"

Lily seethed on Elmira's words, eyes furious as she drew deep having breaths. "Which one of you did it?!" She whirled around. "Which one of you. Ruined. Everything?!"

"You can't blame me." Elmira returned. "I had nothing to gain by turning those men out."

"Nor me." Alice defended. "Maybe it was you! Was it…was it just not enough having one of them? Were you promised something more?"

Lily shook her head, another tear rolling down her cheek. "How can you say that? Those men gave me the only good things I've ever had in my entire fucking life! And now…now…"

Alice shook her head. "There's nothing left for it now - maybe it wasn't any of us. Maybe the betrayer is still riding with him."

Lily really didn't think that was possible. Was it? Dick had been so awful quick to accuse her and the girls. But none of them would confess to anything – how could Dick possibly be so wrong? She kicked at the ground, crying out in frustration and sniffling back more tears.

With a deep breath, she glared over at Elmira. "Split that cash three ways. I don't care where each of you go from here, but it's over – we're done. Our jobs are gone and we have to make a new way now."

Elmira glared back, a hint of fear in her gaze as she started thumbing through the bills.

High numbers weren't Lily's strong suit, but they were able to divide the similar looking bills equally between them. She could only hope it would be enough for a night or two at the Bluewater Central Hotel. Maybe by then she'd know what to do. How to move on. Where to go.

Memories of her days at the hellhole of Jimmy's Diamond Saloon ate at her mind, making her shudder.

She just had to find a better way. She just _had_ to.

* * *

That night, no one knew what to say and the crackling fire filled the silence.

Dick had just finishing telling them all about the conversation that Sunday morning outside the church with Dike. All about the thinly veiled threats and talk of betrayal. The specific mentions of Alice and Lily.

But now each man sat, wound tight and trying to make sense of it all.

"Well, someone has to say something." Nix said, with his usual air of self-deprecation. "I know I feel pretty shitty. Can't be the only one."

The crackling fire greeted him in response for the longest of minutes.

"There's plenty that could be said." Lip started quietly. "There's plenty that could have been said weeks ago – there's decisions that might have been made differently. But we're here now. The rest of it is just a bunch of yelling and finger pointing that accomplishes nothing."

Ron shrugged. It was the first movement he'd made, aside from blinking, since he sat down. "If it makes you feel less like shit to yell and point fingers, then maybe that'll be one less of us who wants to punch our bosses square in the face."

Dick looked over, concern in his gaze. "Ron, you can't –"

"No." Ron cut him off with a sharp look. "No – you can't claim that you made the smart decision here. Harboring me and putting everything – everyone – at risk. We should have gone to higher ground. To the Stro – "

"And admit ourselves guilty by running? Never."

Gene sighed. "Didn't we make ourselves guilty by running away already?"

Nix shook his head, wrinkling his nose. "No – not since Dike struck first. Until he starts spreading his lies, we just look like victims."

"The damage is done either way." Lip said, shaking his head. "Whatever life we hoped to have built in Bluewater is lost now."

Dick looked up and over at Lip. "Not if we can prove what Dike was doing, and that we're innocent of…all of it."

Ron's jaw tightened as he stared at the fire. "We start by finding those men – the ones Dike gave the Indian weapons to. Find them, and see what they can tell us."

Nix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Not sure we have any other choice. We're on the run until we prove Dike's accusations otherwise."

The answering silence lingered a few minutes until Lip sighed, his lips drawing to a thin, troubled line. "I hope the girls are alright going back there."

"They don't know all the details." Dick said softly. "Not even Lily."

A log snapped in the fire, sending up a flurry of embers.

Gene looked over at Dick, gaze hard but trusting. "I hope that's true. Not sure I'd put it past Dike to use everything available to get at us if what Speirs has said is true."

"The girls couldn't stay with us." Dick's tone left no room for disagreement. "I wouldn't allow us to sustain that continued risk. You have to understand that. And if not…well. This isn't the cavalry. It's not desertion if you want to go off on your own. I don't have any severance to offer for ending employment, but I'm sure any or all of you would manage."

xxx

Dick's words hung like a heavy veil around the fire. Nix shuffled uneasily, drawing his knees to this chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. Would anyone actually take him up on it? He supposed Speirs might – if the man wanted to strike out, or take up a defensive position, this was his opening. It was honestly hard to say.

As it was, silence continued to reign for several tense minutes.

Gene yawned, stretching his neck to one side. "Well, I've had enough for one day. And we've another day's ride ahead of us tomorrow."

Speirs pushed up to his feet. "I'll take first watch over the horses."

Lip nodded, rising with stiff movements. "I'll take second. Wake me round after midnight. Gene – you'll take third?" The shorter man offered a nod that Lip matched before he looked over at Dick. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think any of us are going anywhere just yet. So you can stow all future talk like that."

The answering look on Dick's face spoke to such gratitude. "Thank you, Carwood."

Lip smiled softly in return, nodding dismissively. "I'm glad you're alright. It would have been a horrible day if that bullet had been any lower."

Nix's gut rotted at the memory of that terrifying moment. At the blind panic that had seized him.

Lip shuffled off to join the others before Dick could respond to the sentiment, and Nix exhaled deep, trying to let go of the day. There had just been so much – how had their world managed to upturn so quickly?

"I don't know if I've ever seen you so quiet." Dick said softly.

"I don't know if I've ever been this sober at this time of night." He sighed. "And on a night when I could really use it, too."

"I might even join you."

"Now that would be something." His gaze strayed to Dick's hat, sitting beside the man with the bullet hole caught visibly in the firelight. "Hell of a day."

"Yes…yes, it was. Hardest day I've had in years."

"I know it wasn't easy for you." The rest went unspoken. Nix just couldn't bring himself to voice Dick's outright dismissal of Lily and the girls.

"You don't think I made the right decision. I know you well enough to know that you're only this quiet when you don't want to say what's really on your mind."

"Hell, Dick." Nix sighed, shaking his head slowly. "What do you want me to say? Yes, I think it was wrong to abandon them the way that we did. But was it the right decision? Maybe? Probably. Stands to reason someone on the inside was passing along information – most likely it was one of them. But Lily? Not a chance in hell."

"You would know?"

"Yes, I would know." A simmering anger burned in Nix's eyes, echoed in his tone. "She had nothing to gain from turning traitor. You remember how we found her. Why in god's name would she risk that we'd send her back? Always seemed like she was braced for the bottom to fall out, to reach the end of your generosity – not to play you for a sucker and take you for everything you have."

The briefest look flashed across Dick's face and disappeared as Nix stared at him. Was it guilt? Was it hurt? Jealousy? Whatever it was, it made Nix's heart ache. He wanted nothing more than the reach out to the other man, wrap him up, hold him close.

Dick visibly swallowed, exhaling a tight breath. "I hear what you're saying. And I'd be lying to say that you're not echoing my own conflicting thoughts. I just…." Only once before had Nix witnessed the pressure of leadership weighing down on Richard Winters and the vulnerability on the other man's face in those moments was gut wrenching. "I just couldn't keep her and not the others. You say you know her – and believe me, I know that you know her better than I do – but she was still a risk to all of us. And I couldn't allow that."

"I can see how you might think that. But I'm going to say that you were wrong on this one." He couldn't help but think back to how she fell apart in the kitchen that day Speirs was shot. To the longing in her voice that matched his own. She could no more betray them than he could betray Dick.

"Lew, I…" Had he ever heard the other man sound so sad? "I need…I can't do this without you on my side."

"I'm on your side. Have been since that day on the train to Fort Benning." Nix shrugged, exhaling a sad sigh. "That doesn't mean we'll always be right."

"Sure." Dick reached over for his hat, making moves to rise. "I'm going to pack it in. See you in the morning."

"In the morning." Nix watched him go, warring with himself to call out and say more. Not that he knew exactly what to say. There were just too many words choking his throat, yearning to claw their way out. So he watched the other man shuffle off before turning his gaze back to the low burning embers, just staring.

Sadly, snuffing out the fire and retiring to his blanket did nothing to bring him peace of mind or sleep. The stars continued to peek in and out of passing clouds as he lay on his back, looking up. His gut clenched each time he thought back to the last conversation with Dick and the look on the man's face.

It sat even worse with him on the heels of the panic that had overtaken him when he saw Dick go down. A tightness settled in his chest at the thought of losing Dick, an ache that threatened to consume him. God, he'd never thought himself to be so undone at the thought of actual, physical heartbreak, but then he'd never counted himself lucky enough to meet someone like Richard Winters.

Wind rustled the leaves of the trees as it blew on by, bringing with it a pleasant smell. He'd found a grove of juniper trees to lay out his blanket, enjoying the crisp, sweet smell. It made his mouth water for liquor, even though gin wasn't his favorite. He shuffled against a stray root digging into his back, bringing an arm up behind his head in a mock attempt of a pillow.

A soft, deliberate crunching of leaves and earth sounded off to this right. His ears perked instantly, left hand reaching for the curled-up gun belt beside him.

"Flash."

Nix froze, recognizing the whispered word of his past in the voice of the man that tormented his thoughts. "Thunder." He heaved a sigh of relief as Dick emerged from the shadows, coming to stand alongside him. "Shit, Dick...it's been a long time since I've heard that."

"Glad you didn't forget."

"The CO drilled that friendly call sign into our head so many times, I could probably forget my own name but still remember it."

It was hard to see in the distant starlight, but Nix thought he saw a smile flit across Dick's face. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"No, I wasn't asleep." Nix said quickly, shuffling over. "Though, even if I was - I don't think you'd have a qualm with waking me up."

"Well...I was hoping you weren't asleep." Dick sighed, a strangely frustrated sound. "I couldn't sleep. Just kept tossing and turning, and...with the way our last conversation ended, I hoped I wasn't the only one."

"No, I understand. That's - that's what was keeping me up to." Nix patted the blanket as he sat up. "Sit down. Apologies won't work if you're looking down on me."

"Not looking down on you, Nix." Dick admonished as he dropped down alongside him. "But this is nicer. Lovely collection of junipers that you found."

"They're just making me thirsty."

"There's water."

Silence was usually always easy between them, but tonight, it felt heavier than a brick. Nix forced a swallow, trying to make sense of it. But he kept coming back to the same answer - it had just been an absolute hell of a day.

"You cut it close there. Earlier." Nix said softly, not looking over.

"Cut it close?"

"Aerating your hat."

"Oh. I guess the angels are on our side."

"The angels will always be on your side."

Dick licked his lips. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"If they're not on your side, then there's no hope for the rest of us. I mean, come on. You're practically a saint."

"Not when it comes to you, Lew."

The bluntness of Dick's words punched Nix in the gut. His mouth went dry, heart leaping in his chest. Any lingering drowsiness drowned in the sudden wave of anxious alertness that overtook him.

"That's…that's just the shock talking."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Never have." Dick's lips teased up in a warm, lopsided grin. "I wouldn't lie about this. Not now, and not when I've had seven years to come to terms with the truth."

Nix's stomach tightened anxiously, unable to believe this was actually happening now. He wasn't really that lucky, was he? "Dick, don't do this. Please. I can't –"

"I almost knocked on the Pearly Gates today and took with me the one thing I've always wanted you to know." The earnestness in Dick's voice was overwhelming. How wonderful it was to be the center of Dick Winters' world. "I'm not telling you so as to expect anything in return - you can even leave if it helps – but I have to tell you."

"Leave? Why on earth would I leave? It's the one thing I've wanted to hear you say."

Dick's lips lifted in a coy little smirk. "I haven't actually said it yet." They were standing at the point of no return, and there was no reason to hesitate. "I love you, Lew. Don't ever doubt it."

Nix's mind blanked. There it was…and he couldn't have heard it right. After all these years, how could someone like Dick possibly love him? He didn't deserve someone so good.

Dick shuffled over closer to him, unable to stop smiling at the look of sheer bewilderment on Nix's face. "It's not that hard to understand. I love you." He leaned in, brushing his nose to Lew's cheek. "I love you."

Nix turned, relishing the feel of Dick's breath against his skin before pressing his lips forward. Relief, elation and curiosity surged through the kiss. Nix could hardly breathe when Dick's mouth fell open, deepening the contact. A groan tore from his throat before could think to stifle it. God, this was everything he'd ever wanted.

His hands rose to Dick's jacket, pulling him forward, ever closer, as he shuffled to lay back against his blanket. Dick moved easily with him, sighing as Nix widened the v of his legs to better slot their bodies together. His hips rolled up against the other man's, drowning in the wanton sound on Dick's lips.

"You sound perfect." Nix rocked his hips again, pressing Dick so close, breath catching at the increasingly pleasurable press of their clothed erections. "I've loved you for so long. Why'd we wait? We could have had this - each other - for the last seven years?"

"I'll make it up to you."

"Oh?"

"Sure." Dick's words brushed his lips. "How's the rest of my life sound?"

"It's a start." Nix's smile threatened to split his face as he wrapped the other man up even tighter. "It's a damn good start."


	10. September Part IV

The true gravity of the heartache hit her mid-walk back to Bluewater. The tears that flowed free since the men rode off lodged a deep ache in her chest that burned with anger and frustration. She screamed at whatever would listen – the trees, the rocks, the sky – eventually slumping down against a tree in helpless sobs.

None of them had stood up for her. None of them had defended her.

Did she really mean so little to them? To all of them?

She hadn't meant to stay against that tree all night, but it had been too easy to rest her head against her arms atop her bent knees. When she'd woken up to discover it was night, it just made more sense to wait until morning to keep moving.

Her stomach growled with hunger as she continued to make her way back, deciding that food would have to be the first order of business. Would there be any left at the saloon? Or had the law officers ransacked the place?

The uncertainties tossed about in her head the rest of the way until the prim row of cabins along the west edge of town came into view. The McClure's cabin was by far the nicest of the group, and the neat rows in her vegetable garden were second to none.

The elderly woman hunched low over the last row – cabbages, if Lily's memory served right. Her stomach growled as her gaze dropped to the full basket of carrots that sat beside the woman as she worked. Was it worth it to call out and beg a carrot? But all too late, the woman looked up, eyes widening as she looked at Lily.

"Good heavens! Miss Martin." Mrs. McClure stood to her feet, wiping her dirt smudged hands on her apron. "My goodness – I heard what happened at the saloon. We all did. Harboring a fugitive, indeed. I can't believe Mr. Winters would do such a thing,"

She forced a hard swallow, nodding with a hesitant grimace. "Yes, ma'am. It…it was awful."

"I don't doubt that. I can't imagine an all-out gunfight like that." The elderly woman shook her head, her chin raising with an air of judgement. "But I can imagine justice served for those that betray and lie to the people of their community. It hurts me to now count Mr. Winters among them, and yourself, too."

"What?"

"Mr. McClure! Come quickly!" The woman turned, continuing her calls towards the shed that stood apart from the house. "Mr. McClure!"

The sturdily-built, older man emerged, wiping a hand on his brow under his hat. "Yes, Mrs. McClu – is that Miss Martin of the Easy?"

"Yes, it is."

Every hair on the back of Lily's neck stood up in fear for survival as the older man rapidly approached.

"Come on now, Miss Martin – please don't struggle." Mr. McClure said as she started to back away, glaring between the couple. "Unfortunately, Marshal Dike has put out a reward for bringing in anybody who worked at the Easy Saloon."

"No! He can't!" She looked panicked between them. "I didn't do anything!"

"Then just tell him that – and remember, child, God hates a liar." He reached out for her arm, and she jerked away, just out of reach.

"I won't go with you!" She turned, trying to kick her tired feet into a run. But her movements were uncoordinated from exhausted hunger, and she caught the edge of a rock, falling ungracefully into the dirt.

"Please don't make any more of a scene, Miss Martin." Mr. McClure's solid hand fell to her arm, helping her back up to her feet and keeping his grip firm. "If you are innocent – as you claim – then you shouldn't fear talking with the marshal."

With the insisting pressure of Mr. McClure's hand on her arm and the prying stares of the people of Bluewater, she had no choice but to be dragged before Marshal Dike.

Only, the marshal wasn't in right now. 'Out on bidness', the gapped-tooth man sitting in the rocker on the porch had said. But the marshal was sure to be overjoyed on his return to find an employee of the Easy Saloon cooling her heels in his jail cell.

She'd protested the whole way. Pleading with Mr. McClure and the gapped-tooth man. But it all fell on deaf ears, and the silence of the marshal's office was all that she had left now.

She paced the length of the cell again, arms crossed tight to her chest. She hadn't done anything wrong to deserve to be locked up like this. But nothing about her previous meetings with the marshal lead her to believe that she would be released, no matter what she said.

Her stomach growled with hunger as a wave of lethargy rippled through her. She hoped that Dike would arrive soon, before her hunger grew much worse. She utterly refused to ask that man for food. The protesting rumble of her stomach, however, made her fear how long that conviction could stand.

Heavy footsteps thumped on the porch outside, voices following. She couldn't make out the words, but the familiar, lofty tones of the marshal were easily recognizable. Her gaze fixed on the door, bracing herself as it opened.

Dike stepped in, looking straight at her with a pleased smile. "Well, well." He chuckled a small sound, closing the door. "Isn't this just a fair turn."

"There ain't nothing fair about this." She spat, leveling him with her best glare. "Your flunky out there locks me up unjustly when I ain't done nothing!"

He held her gaze, judgement ripe across his features. "Unjustly? I give that man out there high praise for holding you here. You were involved with the harboring of a wanted man. And that crime is justifiably punishable."

"A wanted man…." She shook her head, lips curling in anger. "He was only wanted because you didn't want him knowing what he knew about you!"

"And there you go – implicating yourself so beautifully. You admit to knowing that Speirs was wanted by the law." Dike smiled, cold and hard.

She held his gaze as she walked up to the bars, uncrossing her arms and bracing them against the cold metal. Far more intimidating men had stared her down without metal bars in between. Hell, she might have even lumped Speirs into that group when she'd first met him that day. It also didn't escape her notice that Dike now knew his name, even though the poster hadn't been edited.

"Does it really matter what I say? Or don't say?" She shook her head, biting her lip in mounting anger. "I know from that wanted poster that you're a master at coming up with reasons to frame people for breaking the law."

"I truly resent being called a liar. Let alone, being called a liar by a godforsaken whore."

"You son of a bitch!" She railed against the bars, eyes blazing. "You're goddamned right, you fucking liar! Lying to save your neck and cover up your crimes. But it won't work, I tell you – your badge won't save you!"

Dike laughed, the gleeful sound dissolving in an unbothered yawn. "But that's where you are wrong. That badge gives me all the power here, whore. To see you convicted of hiding a fugitive. To see you condemned for a godless life of sin. To see your neck snapped in the hangman's noose and hasten your arrival at hell's gates."

Her hands fisted around the bars, knuckles white as she could only stare back. "You better pray that I never get out of here. Or that I never tell him the things you've said."

"Is that so?" He eyed her with a sideways look, intrigue plain on his face. "Is ol' Speirs beholden to the harlot hellcat?" His lips pursed, his eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. "You know, I always assumed it was Winters or Nixon who had lost themselves between your legs and couldn't break free. Hell, maybe you do have both of them, and Speirs, too. Dammit all - it's just like I told Winters - just cause you don't open your legs for money, doesn't mean you ain't still for sale. Or maybe you charged them? Played them for their hearts?"

"You don't get to say nothing bad about Richard Winters - that man is a purer soul than you or I could ever hope to be!"

"It's telling that he's the only one you rush to defend."

"I owe him my life."

"And you'll owe your death to him, too. Well, you might chalk that one up to Speirs. Knowing him and knowing where he was holed up, yet you didn't alert the law." He shook his head, disappointed. "You see, we keep ending up back here. And you're still in this cell. And, if I'm being honest, I don't see your prospects looking up any time soon. Judge Sobel will soon preside, and then you're bound for the gallows."

"You talk like I've already been found guilty."

"It's only a matter of time."

"Then why does it matter if I tell you anything?" She turned from the bars, walking the few short steps along the length of her cell.

"It doesn't. Not really." His voice sounded closer to the bars now. "But you have nothing to do but sit in there and consider what I tell you. So, you believe me when I say that I will see justice served. That you will serve as a warning for all others. You will hang for conspiracy, and you will continue to hang with nothing but the crows for company. And all the boys of Easy will just have to watch until we get them. But make no mistake that they will all burn for this. Maybe even literally. Anyone who gets between the righteous hand of justice can expect no less. And my dear, you just happen to be the first."

Tears burned in her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. She wanted to scratch his eyes out, make him eat his words but there was nothing she could do with the bars. He had her, and that only bristled her further.

He sighed, a smug sound. "A soul with less moral constitution might consider you pathetic. But you're just a whore who got lost so long ago."

* * *

Maybe they all knew it, but Gene knew for sure that something wasn't right with Speirs.

Never had been since the man's first day at Easy.

Quite clearly, he had started out an eastern city boy, even though he never spoke of it and had broken far from it at some point. A former cavalryman with some past hurt – no one could escape the cavalry without some. But Gene couldn't say what drove the stern aura of selfless, single-minded focus that the man always possessed.

Gene's horse shifted underneath him as he watched Speirs walk about the site of the ruined church remains. He and the others were on strict orders to stay put, to not further disturb anything. Gene looked over at Dick, still similarly mounted on horseback watching Speirs explore. If Dick was following Speirs' orders, then clearly, the smart decision was to sit tight.

It was uncanny, though. In the past several days since the saloon was shot up, Speirs had displayed a shocking talent for tracking. The way he picked footsteps and indents out of the grass and mud, pairing and sorting bootprints of the different people present. How he tracked the leaders separate from the lackeys just by telling how deep a horse hoof-print was. Able to tell if what he saw was one day old or a week past. It was…almost like…

Now, Gene knew a thing or two about spiritual healing and the power of native wisdom. After all, his traiteuse Grandmere had been accused of witchcraft multiple times during his childhood. But he grew up in the Louisiana countryside, speaking just as much French as English, and learning everything he could from her. He knew what tribal knowledge looked like. He just never expected to find it in a city-educated cavalry officer.

For there was no denying it – Speirs knew how to read the natural landscape all too well. Yes, the man was instinctively sharp-eyed, but he knew things that only people who had lived here for years, even decades, knew. That only the local native Indians knew.

The man in question currently crouched down low, pointing with his index and middle fingers, brow furrowed as he tired to make sense of something in the ground cover. At last, he looked up, face set with a hard resolve as his fingers followed, pointing much like a compass needle.

"Southwest." Speirs simply said, pushing up to his feet and waking for his horse. "Not four days out."

Nix snorted from his horseback, shifting in the saddle. "You're sure? If you saw them here when Dike spotted you – however many weeks ago that was – why would they still be here?"

Speirs situated himself in the saddle, looking down to the reins. "If you don't want to come, you're welcome to wait."

And that had been the end of that. They sunk spur and rode hard on.

Ever since then, it had been pretty quiet as they followed the trail that only Speirs could see.

But by day three, even Dick had started showing signs of his impatience. Subtle tells as they were – the tense set of his lips, the tapping of his fingers against the reins.

But that's when they saw it.

They weren't anywhere special that Gene knew about. But it must have been something – dead squirrels without eyelids weren't just pinned to trees for no reason. The poor creature must have already been dead when the eyelids were removed as not much blood had run down the critter's face, but the lifeless gloss of the beady eyes was plenty disturbing. To say nothing of the arrow right through it's middle, affixing it to the tree trunk. At a quick glance, Gene could see at least two or three more pinned to other trees.

"What on earth?" Lip asked softly, face pale with an uneasy look.

Speirs' mouth tightened to a grimace, cursing under his breath.

Dick sighed slowly. "Poor thing. We should take it – and the others – down."

"Don't touch it." Speirs snapped in a tight whisper. "Or we'll likely be next."

Nix's eyebrows shot up underneath his hat. "Next? What do you mean 'next'?"

Speirs' face hardened as he looked around. "We're on sacred hunting ground. This here's a charm to ward off evil spirits – help keep the sacred land sacred. It's recent which indicates there's an active hunting party near here. Stands to reason they know we're here." He paused, licking his lips. "We haven't exactly been trying to mask our own movements."

"Son of a bitch." Nix gripped his reins tighter, looking around with anxious movements. "I did not sign up to be scalped."

"Steady." Dick calmed, looking between everyone until his gaze landed on Speirs. "What do we do?"

"No sudden movements." He glanced around as he raised his right hand, palm open, and spoke.

Another language. A native language.

Gene smirked. It always felt good to be proven right.

xxx

Nix could absolutely not believe it. Any of it. If he had a liquor bottle, he would have emptied it. As it was, his hand shook instead as he inhaled his cigarette.

The natives had simply appeared out of the trees, as if summoned into being by Speirs' voice. Boy, that was a chilling thought. And now the man stood with a circle of them, conversing in their native tongue like it was something he was born to do. It didn't make sense.

He took another deep draw on his cigarette, turning to Dick who looked equally stunned at the revelation. "Did you know about this?"

"Not a thing." Dick confessed, looking over with wide, surprised eyes.

Lip nodded in Speirs' direction. "He spent almost two years with them."

"How do you know that?" Roe asked.

"He told me. They found him wounded after a raid. Took him in, trying to prove they were better than their enemy. English wasn't spoken much, so he had to learn their words."

"But for two years?" Dick asked softly. "Did he say what that was about?"

"Not in so many words, but I think he would have stayed longer had something not happened. Sounded like he had a wife - or, if not, at least someone he cared about. He didn't say what happened, but it was enough that he left."

Nix shook his head, glancing back over at Speirs with a whole new understanding as the man started to walk back over. "No wonder."

Dick looked over at Lip. "Why did he tell you?"

A private, maybe even fond smile, warmed the other man's face. "That's not for me to say."

Speirs' voice cut through the conversation. "They have the men we're after - they were also caught trespassing on sacred ground. We've been invited to follow them back to their camp."

"Invited?" Nix echoed.

"Yes." He walked over to his horse, mounting up in a graceful, efficient motion. "Come on. They won't wait for long."

With uneasy looks, they fell into place behind Speirs as they moved towards the native Indian hunting party.

Dick rode up alongside Speirs, glancing over with a sympathetic look. "Sounds like quite a story."

"Lip told you?"

"Only what he knew."

"There's nothing else to know."

"If it's true, I'm sorry to hear it."

"Nothing that can be done about it now." He winced afterwards, as if just realizing how it sounded. "But…thank you."

A silence lapsed as Dick licked his lips, glancing up at the wild, intricate trappings of the natives. "You trust them?"

"I trust them not to kill us yet."

Surreal was the only word for it. The sight of the natives' camp. The stares and glares from the tribespeople as the group of white men approached with the hunting party. The bewildering surprise and suspicion that had overtaken the chief's face as Speirs spoke the language. The sheer ability of Roe to nap – to snore, even – as Nix and Lip sat, watching Speirs and Dick converse with the chief at a distance.

Despite Nix's personal level of discomfort and disbelief, he couldn't help but notice Speirs looking positively at ease by comparison. Something had changed in the man's demeanor during their ride. Nix wouldn't dare say softened, nor was he relaxed – but it was hard not to miss the small lift to Speirs' lips, the way his posture radiated none of its usual, rigid severity. Especially now as he sat with Dick, the chief, and a couple others, serving as translator to tell both sides of the conversation.

"I'm beginning to think he made a mistake leaving." Nix said without preamble, catching Lip's attention.

"I don't think he'd agree with you about that."

"No? Look at him. He looks…at ease. Almost happy." He shook his head. " Hell, I almost feel bad for the guy now. Never thought I'd say that."

Lip huffed a breathy laugh. "Don't let him hear you say it. He doesn't want the pity."

"I think you're right – he would shoot me if he knew." Nix's face softened with an amused smile. "Dick looks fairly uncomfortable, though."

"I think I would be too if I was the only one of that group who didn't speak the main language."

Nix glanced back over, watching the conversation continue, looking for signs of frustration or escalation. But it all looked rather quiet and surprisingly civil. "I have to give Sparky credit, though. He's playing a lot nicer than I thought he might."

"He can be diplomatic if he chooses."

"Could have fooled me."

"He knows that storming against the tribe isn't going to get him what he wants."

Nix looked over with a sly smile. He'd known that Lip and Speirs had been closer ever since the winter of '78, but considering the usual lengths that Speirs kept people at, this degree of insight was shocking. "You sure know an awful lot about him. More than anyone else, I'd wager."

Lip shrugged under an embarrassed smile as he looked down. "He's not impossible to riddle out. Haven't you noticed?"

Nix looked back over at Speirs, watching his hands move in elegant motions to match the foreign words. "There is a part of him that he keeps locked away, sure. He, uh, obviously prefers for everyone to think a certain way about him. But there is more."

"There is more."

"Hmm. That's probably why Lily was cracked about him."

xxx

It was fascinating to watch Ron converse with the tribe chief. Clearly, he was a little rusty. But Dick guessed it had been at least six years, if not longer, since he had used the language fluently. Perhaps dialects were slightly different, too. It was impossible to say as he sat in the small circle, just watching the adjacent conversation.

The chief kept shaking his head, mouth defiantly upturned. It didn't seem to bode well.

Ron's transition back to English came abruptly. "The chief is still adamant those are the men that killed his people. Even though I've told him they were given those weapons by someone else."

"But we have no hard proof to offer them otherwise." Dick sighed softly. "It is hard to argue against something so obvious as having the weapons of the murdered tribesmen."

Ron drew a sharp breath, turning back to the chief. He resumed speaking in low, slow tones – the syllables unfamiliar as his hands moved to further emphasize the words. The chief's face tightened ever so slightly, brow pinching together. Whatever Ron was saying, it certainly seemed to intrigue him. When he finally spoke with a deep, rumbling timbre, he sounded weary.

"Chief says if it was indeed other men who are murderers, he wants proof. And he wants them brought here to account."

"Can we speak with the captives?"

Ron turned, asking the question of the chief, and the chief replying in turn.

"He's afraid he'll lose his leverage if they come with us. He has no reason to trust us anymore than the men they have captured."

Dick turned his head with a confused tilt. "I didn't say they should come with us. I just asked if we could talk with them."

Ron froze, pursing his lips in frustration as realization dawned. "Shit." He turned back to the chief, a blush high in cheeks as he spoke again.

Dick suppressed a small smirk at the man's curse, guessing there had been a translation error or wrong word used. He still couldn't understand the words that were being spoken, but there was no mistaking the earnest plea in Speirs' voice. If the Chief could understand that and still refused to help them...well, then. Maybe they could prove themselves some other way.

Speirs nodded suddenly, the movement a sharp contrast to the motions of his hands. "He's agreed to let us speak with the prisoners."

The dwelling looked as unassuming as the next as they were lead up to it. A man stood sentinel outside, glaring at the two white men who were not bound, listening with displeasure as the chief explained the situation to him.

Dick watched the exchange between the chief and the guard, careful to keep his face neutral. He didn't want to risk his intentions being mistaken. Speirs, however, did very little to hide the displeasure on his face as the guard continued to protest. The guard looked over at them with a scathing glare, biting off a sharp remark that made the other man tense beside him.

Speirs fired off a rapid response back to the guard and the other man's face fell slack with surprise. The chief's calming words cut through the tension with a clear commanding edge, and the guard stepped aside.

Dick let loose the breath he'd unintentionally been holding. "What did you say?"

"He said that we deserved to be tied up in that hut with the bandits. I told him to try it and see what happens."

"For pete's sake, Ron. We can't afford to lose their help."

"We won't." They started walking forward as the chief beckoned them into the dwelling.

It took their eyes the briefest of seconds to adjust to the dim darkness, but there were three men, arms tied behind their backs and sitting cross-legged. Bands of cloth had been tied across their mouths, no doubt to cut down on the noise. One of them glared fiercely up, eyes blazing. The other two barely even moved on their arrival.

"Let's start with him." Ron said, dropping to a crouch beside the one, pulling down the spit-soaked cloth.

"Why didn't you kill that fucking heathen?" The man seethed, struggling against his bonds. "For treating white men this way – it ain't fucking right!"

"The way you treat them isn't right." Ron said, voice tight and sharp. Dick recognized it all too well – along with that cold, unhinged look in his eyes. "So tell me, what's your side of this story?"

The man stared back, eyes wide. "You ain't…you mean you ain't here to set me free?" The man fumed as Ron said nothing. "Who the fuck are you?! Marshal service? Cavalry? Cause I don't see no damn uniforms."

"We're all that stands between you being served their brand of justice or delivered in one piece to a federal prison."

A ragged laugh sounded. "There ain't no bounty out on us. We ain't done nothing that no white man is going to care about."

"Then I'll ask you again – what's your side of the story that got you tied up?"

The bandit made a show of closing his mouth, glaring up in defiance.

Ron made an equal show in return, sighing heavily and looking up to Dick with a slow shake of his head as he stood. "Well, I guess we'll just have to tell the chief that these men are indeed guilty."

"Wait," the man interjected, "you can't –"

Dick shook his head, ignoring the other man. "Murdering those tribesmen. Such an awful crime. At least the chief will be glad to know he's got the right men."

Ron stepped towards the opening of the dwelling, calling out in the native language.

"Godammit! Stop!" The man yelled, panicked. "We didn't kill those men! Honest to God!"

Ron spun back around, a wry brow raised. "Now you want to talk? I already stood up – and the guard has gone to get the chief."

"Then I'll tell you from here, goddammit!" The man pleaded. "Those weapons that we had – we didn't kill the heathens to get 'em. Someone else gave them to us to use."

Dick looked down. "To use to murder white men?"

"We was only doing as we was told!"

"Who told you?" Dick pressed, the air in the tent going deathly still.

The man's eyes widened, fear tightening every line of his face as he looked up, clearly conflicted. "I…I can't tell you. I'll be killed – we all will."

"Killed by your employer or killed by the natives. Your choice." Ron said, sharp as steel.

The man swallowed thickly, eyes darting frantically between them. "You…you promise that you'll get me out of here?"

Dick quirked a questioning brow. "What about your friends here?"

Another man started mumbling around his gag, glaring pointedly in their direction.

Ron hummed. "Sounds like one of them might be more willing to talk." He started to walk over to the other man who was still trying to talk.

"They – they don't know nothing!" The first man sputtered, turning to look over his shoulder as Ron pulled the other man's gag down.

"I know everything, you son'uva bich." The other man snarled, staring up at Ron. "It was a marshal gave us them weapons to use."

"Where did he get them?" Ron pressed. "Did he kill those tribesmen?"

"We only been there once – "

"Barry!" The other bandit hissed, a threat clear in his eyes. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth – "

"Fuck you, Frank! You's the one gonna leave us here at the mercy of these godless people!" Barry looked back at Ron. "If they're offering a jail cell over a heathen scalping or worse, or the marshal's noose – I'll take it!"

"Where was the place you've only been one time?" Ron asked.

"Outside Frymore. It was full of stuff – all sorts of injun belongings for sale. We got them weapons special in the woods, but another job took us to the shack where they come from."

"For sale?"

"Ye-yes, sir." Barry nodded to emphasize his point. "And that's all I know – swear to god, honestly! Now please – you gotta get me out of here. I need to see my son again before I die."

Ron glanced over at Dick with a small shrug. "It's more than what we came here with."

"It's a start." Dick agreed, looking over at Barry with a nod of his head. "Much obliged."

"Wh-what's that mean?" Barry pulled against his bonds. "You said you'd get us out of here!"

"We didn't say that." Ron corrected with a stern gaze. "But at least, we'll know where to find you if Frymore doesn't add up."

Barry's mouth dropped, his eyes wide and blazing. "You – you work for the marshal, don't you? Well, you can tell that yawning son'uva bitch just where to find us! The heathens out there'll do for him long before they can get us in here."

"Goddammit, Barry!" Frank roared against his bonds. "Now, he's gonna know that you ain't worth fuck all to him. He's gonna let the heathens just have at us!"

"You ain't so smart – you bast – no, don't you – I won't be -." The rest of his words dissolved in an angry mumble as Ron returned the gag to its former place.

He flashed a predatory gleam of teeth, his voice calm and lethal. "Now there. That's much more peaceful." He pushed up to his feet, walking over to the other man who wasn't struggling.

"You're gonna see to it that we're done for, ain't you?" Frank sighed, not looking up as Ron reached for the gag.

"I ain't gonna stop it, but I ain't gonna go promoting it." He nestled the gag back in place, turning to nod at Dick before they headed back out into the glaring light.

xxx

"That didn't take long." Lip said quietly, nodding subtly over at the dwelling that Ron and Dick had just exited.

Nix snorted, pushing his hat up to look over. "Well, when Sparky's got his mind set on something, he usually gets what he wants."

Lip nodded, biting his lip. "So long as it gets us closer to Dike – closer to ending this."

Nix glanced over at the other man, face pensive. He remembered what Lip had said before – about losing the lives they'd built in Bluewater. A grin cracked his face. He hadn't considered just how much the school teacher meant to Lip. "You're thinking about Miss Cartwright, aren't you?"

The other man sighed, an uncertain sound. "I'd like to think that I can still think about her. That she wouldn't despise me doing so."

Nix knew the reassurances that polite society dictated he should say. But the words felt unbearably hollow. He had heard plenty of those reassurances when he and his wife were going through the troubles that ended their marriage. He could only imagine what Lip had been told during the end of his own marriage.

"I hope she wouldn't despise you, either." Nix said softly. "She doesn't have any reason to. You're a good man. Better than most."

Lip smiled awkwardly under the praise. "I suppose we'll see. It's a long road back to Bluewater from here. To say nothing of my future prospects for her."

"Future prospects." Nix shook his head, disgusted with the words. "Love is love. If there's nothing more you want in life, the rest can find its way." He hoped he hadn't said too much. It was all that he had with Dick, after all. They would never be able to marry or live happily ever after in the traditional sense. But if they loved each other, they would figure something out. Providing, of course, no one found out and arrested them. Or lynched them.

"You shouldn't look at him like that." Lip spoke hesitantly, glancing over with concern heavy in his gaze. "It gives you away."

Nix jerked his gaze to other man's, suddenly feeling way too exposed, unaware that he'd been staring at Dick. His mouth went dry as he struggled to come up with something – some way to dismiss it. But…shit. Lip wasn't wrong in calling him out. Was it just too new? Or had he always looked at Dick that way when talking about matters of the heart? Not that he actually did that all too often. But maybe even more startling was the lack of revulsion or judgement in Lip's tone.

Nix sighed, trying to piece words together. "You might be right. I – you…you're not as repulsed as I thought you'd be."

"I've seen it before. Two men in my regiment. It's unconventional, yes, but…doesn't make it any less real. And you haven't always been so obvious. That's a newer thing, for what it's worth."

Nix bit his lip to stave off the embarrassed smile that threatened as Dick and Speirs joined them.

Roe's snore cut through the small group, drawing Speirs' scowl. "We haven't been gone that long."

Lip glanced up at Speirs with the flash of an amused grin. "Seems he's always had a talent for sleeping just about anywhere. And waking up just as fast. Caught him asleep on horseback once." He turned to the younger man, reaching out with a foot to tap against his boot. "Wake up, Gene."

The snoring stopped, but he otherwise remained just as motionless. "I'm awake." His voice came muffled from under his hat, but he sounded strangely alert.

Nix looked between Dick and Speirs. "So, what'd you learn? They didn't happen to serve Dike up on a silver platter, by chance?"

Dick shook his head, a quick succinct motion. "Not quite. But we do have a lead. Unfortunately, it's in Frymore."

Roe pulled his hat from his face, frowning as he sat up with his arms braced against his bent legs.

"Frymore." Lip echoed, squinting up at Dick in the sun. "That's up north somewhere, right?"

Speirs cut him to the answer. "A mining town, if memory serves."

Dick nodded. "Yes, to both. Gene's been there. Not too long ago, in fact."

"I ain't going back."

Nix's face soured with a dark look. "This…this isn't tied to that hospital is it?"

"We don't know." Dick said softly. "Maybe? The man said there was a shack full of Indian belongings –"

"And the hospital was full of Indians." Roe muttered.

Nix licked his lips, brow furrowed in obvious thought. "There's a lot about that mission that you didn't reveal. Christ, you don't think – putting people in that hospital, and then selling or – or handing out their goods – what does that accomplish?"

Speirs turned with an abrupt step. "We sure as hell won't find out sitting around here."

Dick called after him. "Where are you going?"

"To pay our respects. Then, maybe, they'll let us go with our scalps still intact."

Nix raised a wry brow in Lip's direction. "Let's hope he still employs that diplomacy you spoke of earlier."

Roe shook his head, a sharp movement that matched the tight line of his lips. "Doesn't matter if we keep our scalps or not – I ain't going back to that place. Not after what I seen there."

"You know the way best, Gene." Dick said, a solid note of warm support in his words as he gazed down at the obviously distressed young man. "We need your help."

"It ain't right how they were done for. And you want to go back and dig it all up –."

"We don't know that this is tied to the hospital, Gene. But if going back to Frymore turns up more stones that lead us back to Dike – well, then that's worth it. And if it does lead us back to the hospital and the devastation you witnessed, then maybe that will give some peace for those souls. And yours."

Roe grit his teeth, exhaling deeply.

"So how about it, Doc?"

* * *

Even at a distance, Frymore was an obvious shithole. During the job, Gene hadn't spent much time in the town proper. More of a camp, than a town, really. A mix of rough buildings and slipshod tents, all trying to entice the miners and travelers to part with their hard-earned money or gold. Or whatever came out of the surrounding mountainsides.

They all hadn't yet ventured into the main thoroughfare. Winters insisted that they make camp in the woods up the valley a spell and strike out in smaller groups. Less likely to draw attention riding in and around one or two at a time, then a posse of five. Especially since Speirs always projected the intensity of a man who knew how to handle himself.

It had been seven days since they'd rode out from the native camp, and two that they'd spent perched on the edge of Frymore. Winters and Nixon had made the first pass through the camp, poking around the more established places to see what they could learn of the place. Today, Lip and Speirs had been sent in to try their luck. Quite frankly, Gene was glad for them to go without him. He wanted as little to do with Frymore as possible.

Besides, there was just something about those two by Gene's way of thinking. Not quite the something that was between Winters and Nixon, but something. Had been ever since Lip and Speirs rode north on a job early in January of '78 and spent the next month stranded in the mountains with an endless stream of impossible snowstorms and deadly cold. They'd both returned, pale and gaunt with an array of wild stories. Well, at least the ones that Lip would tell. About how they had dug holes in the frozen ground with crude shovels just to have shelter. About how they had lived off worms and grubs as they could find them. About how the tree branches, loaded with snow and ice, would crack and break without warning, threatening to bury them alive. Lip said the nights were the worst – so bone cold, impossible to sleep, convinced he would just freeze to death during the night.

Gene wasn't surprised that the two men had formed a close bond during such a harrowing experience. But something in Lip's occasional fond smiles and the random press of Speirs' hand on Lip's shoulder or arm made Gene wonder if it went deeper than that.

"It's almost a wonder your face hasn't frozen in all these years." Nixon's tease drew Gene's gaze up to see Dick returning through the trees.

"I find it bracing." Winters said in return. "You might consider a shave. I haven't seen you this bearded since that winter in the Black Hills."

"Hmmm, the one where they sent us up there without the proper coats?" Nixon shook his head, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "The cavalry at its finest."

Gene glanced at the razor in Winters' hand, still recalling the surprise on their second morning out on the trail to wake to saddle bags of gear for all of them – spare clothes, bedrolls, tins of food, water canteens, bullet magazines. And, of course, a razor for Winters. In fact, the only two who hadn't seemed surprised that morning were Lip and Speirs. He'd always known Speirs had a good talent for procurement, but he still didn't know where Speirs had found everything for all of them. They had been less than a day's ride from the ruined church, and two days removed from Bluewater, so where could Speirs have gone overnight for everything? Winters hadn't seemed overly bothered by it, so he'd let the matter lie.

There were bigger issues at hand, anyway.

Like finding this shack of native belongings. Like staying the hell away from that hospital. Like finding some way to turn the tables against Dike and go on about their lives.

The approaching horse hooves drew their attention, heightening their senses. Lip and Speirs hadn't been gone all that long. Gene's hand twitched for his revolver as Winters and Nixon braced, but he sat still as the horse-mounted figure appeared more clearly through the trees.

"Lip?" Winters called out, face twisted with concern. "Where's Speirs?"

"We have a lead on a place nearby that deals solely in native goods. Ron sold us as guides for a rich, eastern dandy who's out to collect trophies and tales of glory, without getting his hands dirty. Ron's holding the tent vendor accountable for his tale while I've gone off to fetch our boss."

Nixon cocked a wry brow. "The rich eastern dandy, huh?"

Lip shrugged a sheepish shoulder. "If you're willing, sir."

Nixon huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Speirs couldn't come up with anything better?"

"There are worse things." Winters encouraged.

"Yes, yes. I hear you. If it gets us what we need…" Nixon muttered, pushing to his feet, looking over at Lip. "How'd he sell it?"

"Frustrated." Lip said. "Lots of promises about authentic items, trophies, but very little delivery. The tent vendor was all too eager to assure that the collection he knew about would top everything that we could have possibly seen. Ron assured him in return that if the goods don't pan out when I return with our boss, he'd see to it that the man never uttered another lie."

"I didn't know I employed such a homicidal guide."

"No. You hired him to keep you safe from the natives, someone who knows the fake from the real thing."

"I see." Nixon walked over to his horse, stepping up into the saddle.

"Thanks, Nix." Winters called out, a small grin quirking his face.

"I'm not doing this for free - Speirs owes me at least one bottle of bourbon for this."

Lip quirked a small smile. "Thank you. I wouldn't have asked if we didn't need you, Mr. Nixon."

"Vanderbilt." Nixon said with a sigh. "Call me Mr. Van."

"Vanderbilt?" Winters echoed. "Isn't that going a little too big?"

Nixon's lips quirked with a dry edge. "I always found the youngest son to be a total bastard. Perfect for inspiration."

xxx

At least Nix could channel his displeasure into the role. He truly didn't enjoy acting like his father. Like the man he was raised to be, but never wanted to be.

In his early years out west, the stigma surrounding an eastern upbringing had staggered him. His family name notwithstanding – which he had yet to meet anyone who actually knew the name – coming from back east meant assumed money, education and snobbery. It was the last part that bothered him. Not everyone with money was a total bastard.

But if that's what he needed to be now to get them to the next piece of the puzzle, he supposed he could stoop to it. It wouldn't be the first time.

A wet smell of excrement and decay tinged the air as they came down the path into the far edge of the camp. Nix wrinkled his nose, scowling at the offensive odor. At least that wasn't a total put on. He glanced over at Lip, who looked just as unbothered slogging through this muddy bog of an excuse for a street as he had back in the fresh air of their campsite.

"This way, Mr. Van." Lip said, urging his horse forward to thread through the raft of people milling about on their various errands. Nix followed close behind until they came to a stop outside a ramshackle tent that bore a crooked sign. 'Cuality Goods Hear!'

"Don't make a stuffed bird laugh." He nodded to the sign with a derisive air, shaking his head, making sure his voice carried. "You better not be wasting my time. Again."

"No sir, Mr. Van." Lip stepped down from his horse, hitching it beside the one he recognized as Speirs'. "The vendor gave us his word."

Nix dropped awkwardly from his horse, tossing the reins to Lip with barley a side glance as he straightened his jacket, giving every impression of the impatient boss. When Lip started for the tent entrance, he followed, taking in the random assortment of goods stashed on rickety tables. Speirs leaned against one, picking at his nails with his pocket knife while a bearded, salty man stood by another table, forehead wrinkled with displeasure.

"Clark." Lip's voice carried in the silence. "Mr. Van's here."

"Thank you, Cliff." Speirs drawled, raising his head with an equally slow movement to stare at the grizzled vendor. "Time to make good on that promise."

"Well, they – those goods ain't here. Like I told you fuckers! We gotta ride out a piece to get to 'em."

"Then why are we wasting daylight?" Speirs' voice held an eerily calm, detached note.

The vendor threw his arms up in a wild gesture. "Need to go to the livery. Ain't got a horse an' it's too far to walk."

"Cliff and I'll ride together." Speirs said, pushing off the table to stand up straight. "Let's go."

"Now, now hold on," the vendor protested, stepping out around his table, "I can't jist go off and leave my tent here. There's thieves!"

Nix sighed, impatient as he glanced around. "My men will ride together, and we will go – now. Waste makes me angry and Clark gets very creative with that knife when I get angry."

Speirs flashed a smile with too many teeth as he continued to idly pick at his nails.

Lip stepped forward, holding out a leading arm. "Come along, Mr. Simpson. Best do as he says."

Simpson looked with wide angry eyes between Speirs and Lip, his upper lip pulling back in a snarl. "You sons'a bitches. All of yous! If anything – anything! – happens to my stuff here, I'm taking it out on all of yous."

"No, you won't." Nix turned back towards the horses, hearing Lip continue to coax Simpson forward. He swung up onto his horse first, watching Lip all but shove Simpson up onto his horse. "You all better be right about this. It's been one hell of a disappointing trip so far."

"Yes'ir, Mr. Van." Speirs said curtly as he held out a hand for Lip to swing up behind him. "Simpson here knows what's best for him. He wouldn't dare waste your time like this."

"Goddamit." Simpson hissed, turning the horse as he shook his head. "Alright, now. Y'all stay close now. Not on my head if you city fuckers get lost in these here woods."

They took off, slogging through the street towards the north edge of town and started up through the woods. Nix guessed there was a trail. There was just the faintest impression of previous travels left in the ground and maybe a few less tree branches going up this windy, snaky way through the trees. He kept the unimpressed, petulant scowl plain on his face as he glanced around, trying to catalog as much detail of their journey for a future visit. Actually, he was glad that Speirs was along. He would probably be able to find this place in their sleep after this visit.

A structure emerged through the trees. It couldn't properly be called a shack, or even a lean-to. In fact, Nix had no idea how the hovel was even standing. Maybe at some point it had been a trapper's cabin, but clearly time had taken its toll and no one had bothered to tend to it. Perhaps that had been entirely intentional. How better to hide something than to make anyone who might stumble onto this place think it was an old pile of nothing? Somehow that thought made Nix's gut roil.

Simpson dismounted without a word, sneering over at Speirs and Lip snugged up together on the horse, Lip's hand gripping the other man's hip as there was little else to hold onto.

Offense flared in Nix at the contempt plain in Simpson's face. "They're only riding like that cause you did not fully disclose your ability to reach this place. I don't employ queers." The word stuck in his throat. A word that he'd heard his father throw around, usually when referring to a business rival. It sickened him to use it, but that was the role.

He swung down from his horse, following Simpson towards the hut without a backwards glance. His father bull-nosed his way through everything, never second guessing or caring what others around him were doing. Why should he?

"Sir," Lip called out behind him, "you might let Clark or I go first. Wouldn't want you wasting your time any further."

"Well, Cliff, seeing as you dragged me here – it's a little too late for that." Nix stopped on the porch, nothing friendly in his look or tone. "Let's see what's inside."

Simpson ambled up the steps, reaching a hand up above the door. With a thud and a creak, the door slid free of its lock and opened with a cloud of dust. Nix followed the vendor inside, squinting into the darkness until Simpson pulled away the first window covering and admitted a shocking beam of light. The room lit to reveal a gut wrenching array of brightly colored woven blankets, animal hide clothing, clay pots, crudely fashioned weapons. Another window opened and Nix just stared. Every object from the native camp they visited might well have been stored here.

Speirs whistled, low and slow, as he stepped inside. "Quite the collection." He walked up to a rack of arrows, inspecting the sharpened arrowheads. "You must'a been at native fighting and killing a long time to get this much."

"Shucks, naw." Simpson grumbled, gesturing vaguely. "I didn't kill all them injuns."

Lip looked over. "You mean…these are real, Clark? Not just a bunch of fake goods from back east. With so many things here, sure looks like it could be a sham."

Simpson's lip curled in offense. "Ain't no sham! These is real heathen things – taken right off their backs."

Nix rolled his eyes, taking the corner of a blanket between his fingers. "You shouldn't be claiming that if you weren't the one there taking the goods."

"All's I said was I didn't kill 'em. But when they was captured, they didn't have need of their things no more. No hurt in turning some money."

"Oh, so there's someplace else? Surely, when they were captured, they also weren't kept here." Nix said. "If Clark vouches for the authenticity of these goods, then perhaps I should go directly to the source."

Simpson shook his head slowly. "Can't do that. The place burned – took everything that was there up with it. You understand that makes this stuff here quite more valuable – I can't just get stuff any ol' time now."

Lip's brow furrowed. "The place burned, you say?"

The vendor's grin was anything but reassuring. "Oh, yes. In a brilliant blaze, it was, too. Burning through the night."

"How long ago?"

"Hell, I don't 'member. Weeks? Months ago?"

Nix hummed, bored. "Well, I want twenty arrows, and a bow. Four – erm, make it five – baskets. At least two blankets. And one of the beaded, feathered headbands over there."

Simpson's mouth gaped open, staring blankly back at Nix before he recovered to break into a wide, drooling smile. "Yeehaw, sir! Goddamn, you gots a good eye!" He hollered a whooping call, slapping the nearest pile of clothing and kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Well, come on." Nix looked between Speirs and Lip. "Get to it. Load it up, and then I want to go to this other place that burned. If that's where everything came from, then maybe there's still something left."

Simpson turned from where he was pulling down the headdress. "They ain't started nothing back up there – this here's the last of it all. Well, unless, you're into them rumors'n ghost stories."

Lip turned with a curious little smile. "Clark here may be good with a knife and Indian hunting, but rumors and ghost stories are what I do best. Let's hear it."

Simpson smiled, the dim light pronouncing the gap between his teeth. "The dead souls still roam the place at night – can hear 'em moaning and singing their "hiya-heya" heathen songs. No peace to be found, they say – since they's burned and not left to rot on the ground. Says they're protecting the last mysteries – a treasure in a chest." Simpson looked down to the headdress in his hand with a ragged laugh. "But that's all a load of bullshit. I been out there lots. There ain't no treasure. There ain't no ghosts. Just burned up shit, and some metal - the stove, the lockbox - but they ain't no treasure. No chest."

Nix turned for the door, deadpan. "I want to go there." The dust had started to irritate the back of his throat, and the pieces of the story that were starting to fit together rotted his stomach.

"Wait, sir!" Simpson's voice followed him out onto the porch. "Your stuff! Let's close the deal here."

Speirs voice was dead cold when it issued out of the hut. "There is no deal. In fact, you'll be lucky to leave with your life."

"Wha – you! Git yer hands off me!"

Lip's voice followed, tight and strained. "Come on. Nice and quiet."

"You can't do this to me! I ain't done nothing – I-I bought all of this, you know. No stealing here!"

"Didn't say you stole it." Lip's voice was much closer as he pushed Simpson out onto the porch, hands bound behind his back.

"What is he – no! No, goddamit!" Simpson screamed, twisting against Lip's hold as he squinted back inside. The faint odor of smoke started to fill the air as Nix turned back around to see Speirs step casually out of the dwelling, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

A plume of orange flames licked into view from inside the hut as more articles caught fire. Smoke trickled out the door and Nix couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. They may not be able to help the souls who had already suffered but at least their last possessions would no longer be sold for nefarious purposes.

Simpson still screamed, struggling against his bonds as Nix stepped off the porch. Speirs followed, posture stiff and face stony, a clear sign of the anger that he was working to keep in check. He could hear Lip talking to Simpson in firm, soft tones and glanced over to see Lip push him down to a sit against a tree. With his arms tied behind his back, it would take Simpson a good while to figure out how to stand, to say nothing of folks who might come to help when they saw the rising plume of black smoke.

"Let's go." Lip said as he approached, stepping up onto his own horse with a sigh and a final glance back at the shack. Smoke issued out from the cracks in the roof and a curl of orange flame broke through. It was satisfying to know that nothing would be left standing once that fire went out.

Simpson hurtled continued curses but it was easy to ignore them as they turned their horses back down the trail.

Lip coughed softly. "It's good to see that place burn."

"Yes," Nix agreed, "though I don't envy what we have to do next. Simpson could only have been talking about that hospital Gene saw burn."

"For his sake, I was hoping they weren't connected."

Speirs didn't turn around as he spoke. "We can go without him, if need be."

Lip shook his head. "Gene didn't leave before, and we won't leave him now."

Nix sighed, turning to face forward as his horse faltered on a root. "But count on Dick to give him the choice. And - speaking of choice - Cliff & Clark? Where on earth did those come from? Sounds like some corny vaudeville act."

Lip shrugged, unconcerned. "Middle names."

"No shit?"


	11. September Part V

Gene swore that he would never come back. Not after what he'd seen. Not after what he'd smelled.

But here he was, staring down the charred and crumbling remains of that disgusting excuse for a hospital. Most of the structure had collapsed, leaving charred, thick hardwood beams to litter the rest of the burned up debris. As he dismounted, he could only hope that the remains of all those who died within had been properly seen to.

"Jesus." Nixon breathed. "There's hardly anything left."

Speirs' hard gaze swept over the scene, but his words were quiet. "Doesn't sound like there was supposed to be."

Winters stepped forward to get a better look. "Do you know which side the office was on, Gene? That's likely where the lockbox is."

Based on what the three had said after returning from burning Simpson's shack, they all agreed the supposed lockbox was worth going after. It was probably a longshot. Surely, everything worth any value had already been taken and any evidence had been properly disposed of. Gene doubted they would get so lucky, but he had been severely outvoted when they discussed returning to the hospital.

Gene forced a hard swallow, the memory of the building that once stood here returning. "The office was right in front."

Lip nodded gently, his voice soft. "I can take a look around the backside, see if anything jumps out."

"I'll come with you." Nixon agreed, walking towards Lip as they started to move for the back of the structure.

Bile rose in Gene's throat, Renée's kerchief burning a hole in his pocket as he watched them go. The idea of any of them poking around such a mass grave sickened him. But what choice did they have? He fell into step behind Winters and Speirs as they circled around the front towards what remained of the stairs where the crudely fashioned metal handrail stood lonely guard.

"Careful of the steps." Winters cautioned as they approached. "None of us can afford to get hurt right now."

Speirs took to the stairs first, testing his weight on the charred wood. It seemed to hold and he continued up the last two. "There's footprints here." He said suddenly, crouching down to zero in on the disturbed ash and soot. "At least two, maybe three sets."

"Probably others in search of this fabled treasure." Winters speculated as they crossed through what Gene knew used to be the front archway.

"Agreed." Speirs confirmed, pointing at swirls and patterns along the charred remains. "Someone has come through before us and moved things around - cleaned up."

"Hopefully burying the dead." Gene grumbled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets for something to do.

"Maybe." Speirs answered noncommittally, rising to his full height and moving with cautious steps, angling over a disfigured pile. He hissed as he snatched a hand back. "Mind the nails."

"Did one get you?" Gene glared at him in annoyance, but the other man said nothing as he continued to move amongst the charred remains.

"Nothing to be found, Dick." Nixon's voice carried on the breeze as more careful footfalls crossed up the front steps.

"Fine. We're still looking here." Winters motioned at Speirs who had crouched down again. "He's found evidence that others have been here before us."

"Did they take the lockbox?" Lip asked.

"Don't know yet." Gene answered, glaring ahead as Speirs stood abruptly, turning a few more steps before staring intently down. He lifted a boot, toeing at something. "Use your hands, for christ's sake. You're traipsing on a gravesite. If you cut yourself again, I'll fix you up."

With an obvious look of displeasure, Speirs crouched again and started gingerly moving indiscernible burned material away. "Whoever was here before us tried to cover it up."

That spurred the rest of them forward, trying to tread the trail that Speirs had woven through the debris.

"Is it on it's side?" Lip asked, coming alongside him.

"No," he grunted in effort, "lend a hand."

In the end, it took three of them to move the heavy, charred beam aside. The glossy face of a safe lay beneath, the bright bronze of the dial glinting in the sun.

"A safe in the floor. Some lockbox." Nixon marveled with a shake of his head. "Crafty bastards really didn't want anyone to know what they were up to."

Lip crouched down next to Speirs. "Whoever was here before didn't have the combination. Just look at the scratches." White scratches lined up all around the dial, indicative of an effort to try and pry the dial off the front. The door handle also looked a little disfigured with accompanying dull, white marks around it.

"Looks like they might have even gone after it with a hammer." Speirs speculated, pointing to the handle. "A big hammer, at that."

Winters braced a hand against his hip. "Well, it wouldn't be a good safe if it opened that easily. But now, we have to find a way to open it."

"You've got good hearing, don't you Lip?" Nixon asked, glancing over.

"Not that good, sir." He looked down at the dial, leaning in closer as he gave the dial a trial spin. "Sounds like something got loose or damaged in the previous attempts to open. Wouldn't be able to hear anything over that rattle."

Nixon looked up with a halfway, hesitant shrug. "Could...could ride into the next town over. Bring the blacksmith back with a sturdy crowbar? Or drag the safe to him and try to – I don't know – knock a hole in it? Or heat up the metal until it can be pried open?"

Gene scoffed. "That's hardly practical."

"I wasn't trying for practical. We just need something that's possible. And, hell, I don't even know if it's that. I've never had to consider breaking into a safe before."

Lip prodded around the exposed edges of the safe. "I don't think all of our horses together could drag it out. There's some sort of substructure here. Looks like it's tightly anchored to prevent something like that from happening."

Speirs stood up slowly, wiping a hand against the leg of his trousers as he glanced back out towards his horse. "Be right back."

"You better be going somewhere useful." Gene grumbled, darting a sharp look at the taller man as he moved away from the group.

"It's alright, Gene." Lip offered with a reassuring nod to the tense younger man.

"No, it's not." Gene shot back. "Robbing a gravesite is never alright."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you." Winters consoled. "But if the contents of that safe lead to the conviction of the man who murdered all these people, I hope God will forgive us our trespasses here."

"Well, what else do we have?" Nixon started again, looking around. "It's someone else's turn for an idea how we get this safe open."

Speirs' returning footsteps made the structure creak as he moved back over. It took them all a moment to register what he held in his hands. A couple of long, narrow cylinders were bunched together and he was actively tying the fuses together. The fuses of dynamite sticks.

Three voices chimed out at once.

"Where did you get that?"

"Holy shit."

"What is wrong with you, ridin' around with that stuff!?"

Speirs didn't glance up from the fuses, voice cool. "If we have any other working ideas, I'm all ears."

An uneasy silence fell as they watched him finish off the knot. Was this really the best idea?

"You ever shot off dynamite before?" Lip asked quietly, standing up.

"Once. Figured it blows through rock pretty well. Why not try it on metal?"

Lip nodded at the knotted fuses. "How will you set it off? Someone will have to be pretty close."

"Right next to it, in fact."

Winters shook his head, resolute. "Absolutely not. We can't take that risk."

"That's why everyone else will be back with the horses. If not standing farther back."

"Didn't know you were a runner, Sparky." Nix quipped, sounding decidedly less than amused.

"Only when I have to be."

A general air of dreaded resignation settled as no one voiced any more arguments or excuses.

Lip glanced back down at the safe before looking to Speirs. "Setting it along the dial should do it, I think." He clapped a supportive hand to the taller man's upper arm. "Good luck."

"We're just gonna let him blow himself up?" Gene asked, looking incredulously among the group as they started to move away.

"Not sure we have much of a choice." Winters conceded.

Nixon laughed a cynical sound. "I'm not about to stop him. He's got that maniacal look he gets sometimes."

Winters looked back to Speirs and then at the horses. "We should probably put some more paces between us, though."

"Does anyone know about the first time he shot off dynamite?" Lip asked cautiously as they lead their horses away a few more steps. "Why? Or how it went?"

"Well, he's still standing." Nixon offered with a nod back towards the man in question, noting a rising trickle of smoke. "With all his arms and legs. Fingers, too."

Gene glowered, muttering under his breath. "How about the other guy?"

Speirs took off at a dead sprint through the debris, but he just barely reached the edge of the structure before the ground shook. A white cloud of smoke erupted into view, the boom of explosion reverberating in their ears. The accompanying whoosh of air had them all staggering for their balance, hats blown off their heads as they struggled to keep a grip on the horses' reins. The horses whinnied and neighed, desperate to flee from the disturbance.

Dark flakes of ash and splintered debris floated in the air as the smoke started to clear.

"Whoa, whoa." Nixon tried to soothe the frightened animal next to him, gripping the reins tighter. "Do you think he used enough?"

"Did he get clear?" Lip's voice sounded over the horses' cries.

"He's on the ground." Gene answered.

Winters stroked the side of his horse's head as it settled, the rest starting to calm in the aftermath. "Go see to him, Gene."

He handed the reins over to Lip, coughing against the fouled air as he walked back towards the structure. At least Speirs was moving. With a shake of his head, the taller man pushed himself up to sit, blinking harshly and grimacing. It was an odd sight to see Ron Speirs out of sorts.

"Did you blow your ears out?" Gene asked, coming to a stop before him.

"I can hear you." Speirs confirmed with another pained shake of his head. "They're ringing something fierce, though."

Gene's lips ticked up. "That's not surprising." He knelt down, taking assessment. "You alright otherwise?"

"I think so."

"You've got a good splinter in your leg. Doesn't look any worse than the scratch on your hand, though." Gene watched him roll his shoulder, wincing with the movement. "Did you jump or were you thrown?"

"Both."

"You'll likely turn black and blue on that side for a few days. I don't envy you waking up in the morning."

"He going to make it?" Nixon's voice carried over as Gene pivoted to see them approaching the building remains.

"He's going to make it." Gene confirmed, turning back to find Speirs pushing up to his feet with a groan. He wobbled for a step and Gene sprung up, extending a hand to steady him. Where Gene expected to receive a dismissal and denial from the other man, there was only silence. That was almost more concerning than anything else. Had he also hit his head, maybe?

Gene sighed softly. "You want me to get that wooden shiv out of your leg before you try to walk anymore?"

"No," Speirs grit with a limping step. "It'll keep until you can clean it proper. I'll not have you open it up later if it closes now."

Gene nodded slowly in understanding, even if he didn't like the answer.

"I'll say he used enough." Lip's voice reached them as they neared the remains of the front steps. "It's a miracle nothing inside also went up."

"What a record keeper."

"Look later, Nix. That explosion will draw attention, and we need to get out of here. We're too exposed."

"Come on," Gene encouraged, turning from watching the others pull ledgers and folders out of the safe to look back at Speirs. "It'll take us a while to get you situated to ride."

* * *

A subdued atmosphere lingered around the meager fire that night. The rainstorm that surprised them later in the afternoon had lasted just long enough to make their clothing sticky damp and the wood too wet for a steady fire.

Speirs laid on his back, trying to ignore the various aches in his body and the moisture seeping up from the ground through the bedroll. Loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn't as young as he used to be. He knew the more he pushed his body to do things like he used to, the sooner he would find himself unable to do so. It didn't make the thought any less frustrating as he shifted against a root, body protesting at the movement.

"Still awake?" Roe's voice drifted over, increasing the pounding in his skull.

"Yes." It further didn't improve his mood that Roe seemed convinced that he had a head injury. He'd already been warned that when he did fall asleep, someone would rouse him every now and then to check his mental faculties. The very thought insulted him, but there was nothing for it.

Thing of it was, Roe could be right. There was no way to know for sure.

Speirs cracked an eye open, taking in the yellow fire glow dancing in the treetops and the dark sky sprinkled with stars beyond. If not for the rustling movement of papers and the conversation around the fire, it would be a peaceful night.

"God, their names aren't even recorded." The disheartened sadness in Nixon's voice was palpable. "Woman #124 – admitted for heathen worshiping. Woman #125 – admitted for heathen worshiping. Man #89 – admitted for uncontrollable violence. Oh, god – Child #46 – admitted for heathen worshiping."

"They had children in that place?" Dick's voice was equally heavy with raw emotion.

"At least 46 of them over the years. Based on these entries."

"It looks like these receipts have been coded to match." Lip added, shuffling some papers. "W124 - one woven dress. Beaded bracelet and necklace. Moccasins. W125 – woven dress, moccasins, basket, blanket. They read like a receipt of goods the person had on them when they were admitted."

"Except there's a total value and signatures at the bottom." Roe's voice was gentle, pained. "Everyone's goods were sold."

"Sold all the patients' goods, and we know where they went." Nixon echoed heavily. "Doesn't sound like anyone expected a healing prognosis."

No one voiced the unspoken rest. The deaths of all those from the fire had been the obvious ones, but it was staggering to think of the mistreatment and death that lingered before that place burned to the ground.

A sniffle sounded over a gentle shuffle of paper.

"These signatures are a little hard to make out." Lip said softly, reverently. "But hopefully we can cull a few names from the scratches."

"Did they even know what they were signing?" Dick asked absently. "How could anyone willingly take money from such a sale?"

"There were a few good souls who were trying to help. Who wanted to make a difference in the squalor." Roe's voice pitched deep, burning with something unspoken. Speirs wanted to say it had to do with the blue cloth that was now torn in two, wrapped around his left hand and right leg as bandages. The younger man had looked so conflicted when he pulled the cloth from his pocket before resigning himself to put it to use.

"Were they able to get out before the fire?" Nixon asked warily, as if already knowing the answer.

"No. Just another innocent name swallowed up in the carnage."

Speirs focused on the crackling sounds of the weak fire. It was indeed an awful truth to grasp. How man could be so cruel to his fellow man. He'd been too little at the time to understand much about the war between brothers and his father had been too wealthy to serve. But the horrors of slavery had been well publicized in the north and he'd certainly seen plenty of cruelty in his time with the cavalry. People so blinded with hatred for other skin color that they lost all sense of moral compass.

He still remembered that night of the raid all too well. The one where he took two arrows in the shoulder. He'd been too focused on putting a bullet in the head of his own man who was brutalizing an innocent woman, instead of watching of own back. The arrows hit him, and the details got fuzzy until he woke up on a bed laden with a bison hide.

He sighed deep through the discomfort in his chest, trying to lessen the onslaught of memories. They wouldn't help him heal, or bring Dike to account. Or get him closer to seeing Lily again.

God, he hoped that she was alright. He wanted to see her crooked, proud little smile when she recounted the history stories wrong. He wanted to hold her close in his arms, in his bed, every night. He wanted to see the love that she was terrible at hiding in her green eyes for the rest of his days.

But first, they had to solve this fucking mess. No man should be able to hide behind a badge of the law in connection to such atrocities. He had to concede that maybe Dick was right – maybe Dike didn't have an inkling of what was really happening on the grand scale. Maybe he just rounded people up or staged the attacks so others would rally behind support for such a hospital. Neither thought was redeeming.

"M61." Lip's voice came soft again, but there was a strange note of urgency to it. "If that doesn't read like 'Norman Dike' to you…" There was a soft shuffling, the sound of paper passing.

"Well, I'll be." Dick's voice held a distinct note of awe. "I hoped we'd find something like this, but goodness, that's a good find."

"Here's another – M62." Lip handed over another receipt.

"These men have names." Nixon's voice cut through, heavy with shock. "Jack Collins and Donald Burns."

"What?" Roe said sharply. "How could they swing that?"

"Admitted for illicit relations. Both of them." Nixon finished as a log on the fire popped.

"Was it just those two listed?" Lip asked.

"They're the only two listed on the page."

Lip spoke hesitantly. "If that's the case...it begs the question why they weren't hung for their crimes. Or lynched."

Dick sighed heavily. "Maybe they knew admission to that place would be a worse punishment."

The tension in Nixon's voice was rampant. "That isn't right. None of this is _fucking_ right."

"We'll get him. We have to." Dick's voice held an unfamiliar determination. If Speirs had to guess further, it almost sounded like fury – or as furious as a man like Dick was prone to get. "We should take all this to Colonel Sink."

"Don't you mean Marshal Sink?" Nixon quipped.

"Who's that?" Roe asked.

"Our former commanding officer. Now, he's the head of the western division of US Marshals." Dick said, a note of pride in his voice.

Speirs likened it to laying down the wining ace in a hand of poker. He shifted ever so slightly, gazing over. "Where do we find him?"

* * *

Night after night, this spot on the floor had proved to be the least drafty place in the cell. With knees tucked to her chest, Lily pulled on the hem of her dress in another futile attempt to have it cover more of her legs and her stocking clad feet. Her shoes been taken shortly after her imprisonment, and she hadn't been given anything more.

A wicked cold spell had settled in the town. It didn't always get cold in September - was it even still September? - but temperatures had hovered near bone cold for the past several nights without reprieve.

She glanced over at the cot with bleary eyes. There wasn't even a threadbare blanket for her to wrap up with. She rubbed her hands along her arms as she rested her head on the wall she leaned against. It wasn't comfortable by any means to spend every night curled up in a ball against the wood wall of her cell, but it was the warmest. In another form of cruel torture, the stove fire was thoroughly extinguished every night before Dike left, and it didn't take long for the piercing cold to find its way through the wood and windows, dropping the room temperature to uncomfortable, numbing levels.

A shiver racked through her, teeth chattering as she curled in tighter on herself, trying to conserve heat. Of course, it didn't help that she hadn't had a proper meal in days. Weeks? She couldn't really remember anymore. The days of hunger pangs, cruel slurs, and nights of freezing cold loneliness were starting to blur together.

But she tried to take comfort in her thoughts. Surely, even though he'd dismissed her, Dick had to know that she'd been arrested. As much as Dike was after whatever knowledge she had about the men of Easy, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to lure them in, announcing that he'd imprisoned one of their whores. One who was bound for the gallows if his bluster was to be believed. Though, the judge had yet to show to render the official verdict.

And if Dick knew she was arrested, then surely he and the others were working on a way to get her out. She knew him well enough to know that he could never let injustice stand. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe they'd kick the door down, take out the marshal and swing the door to her cell wide open. Then she'd be free to collapse, hide away from the world. Preferably in Ron's arms. To be wrapped up in his fierce possessiveness. God, how she longed to hear his voice. Always so strong, so sure.

Thudding, scuffing boot falls on the porch outside stopped her wool gathering. The door swung open, unashamedly ushering in a cold blast of air that swept around her cell. She couldn't even hide her shivering as two wool-coat clad men entered. Dike's form was familiar enough these days, but the other man was new to her. He wasn't an overly imposing figure, but his coat looked a tad nicer than Dike's, his hawkish face clean-shaven. His gaze pierced with a coldness that rivaled the winter wind, utterly without remorse or sympathy.

"Federal Judge Herbert Sobel." He turned without waiting for her acknowledgement, shedding his coat to reveal clean, well-made clothes beneath. Dike set about lighting a fire in the stove as Sobel took a seat at the desk, opening a ledger that she had previously not noticed.

"Before we begin, Miss Martin," Sobel continued, shooting her a glance that spoke of annoyance and condescension, "I'm required by law to remind you that any testimony you offer here will be fairly weighed before final verdict is rendered."

"This –." Her voice croaked, barely recognizing it, hoarse as it was from the cold and lack of water. "This is it? My hearing?"

Dike turned towards her with a disapproving glare. "Don't flatter yourself, whore. You're not fit for a public hearing." He stalked back over to the door, opening it wider than necessary to admit more cold air as he left. Uncontrollable tremors racked her frame again as the jail filled with the soft sounds of wood catching fire, the scratching of a quill against paper. In a different setting, these sounds would probably be very soothing, domestic. But with her stomach cramped from hunger and heavy in her throat, and the rigid form of the beady eyed judge across the room, she was anything but soothed.

In what seemed like short order, the door swung back open with a jarring bang, admitting the frigid chill, but this time, bringing a heavenly aroma with it. Food. Hot food. Bacon, biscuits, gravy. Her stomach growled in protest, mouth watering at the delicious smells. The small bread roll and glass of water she was given every day were just not enough. She stared longingly at the cast iron dutch oven as Dike set it on the desk, lifting the lid to release small wisps of steam, the smell growing stronger. Absently, Sobel reached a spindly hand over, lifting a piece of bacon to take a bite. Her empty stomach seized in another aching cramp.

"Now, Miss Martin," Sobel sounded completely unconcerned. As if he was just about to ask her about the weather. "What is the nature of your relationship with Richard Davis Winters?"

She gulped, nervously. "He's my employer."

Sobel's pen scratched. "And the nature of your relationship with Lewis Nixon III?"

"He's also my employer."

"What do they employ you for?"

"Overseeing the saloon girls. Other domestic chores - cooking, washing, mending."

"Are you married to either of your employers?"

"Married?"

"You'd be surprised how many painted ladies are married to their employers. Claiming wedded fealty in defense of their sins."

Her brow furrowed. "What exactly am I being tried for?"

"Please answer the question, Miss Martin. Are you married to either Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon?"

"No."

The pen resumed scratching. "Was your relationship with either Mr. Winters or Mr. Nixon intimate in nature?"

Offense bristled within her. What business was it of his? And how could it possibly relate to her crime of supposedly harboring a known outlaw? "No."

"I suppose now would be a good time to remind you that lying to a federal judge is severely punishable and could result in overturning any favorable verdict that might be rendered."

She shook her head, bitter anger welling within her. "We both know there's no chance in hell that you're considering a favorable verdict."

"Very well." Sobel's face was utterly expressionless as he looked down to resume writing. "Let the record show the defendant offered no truthful testimony to corroborate the information provided by a witness of the court."

"A witness?" She mumbled, head spinning. Who had…had someone really been spying on her? She still didn't want to believe it true. She licked her chapped lips. "Nixon. Mr. Nixon and I shared…an intimate relationship."

"The record shall stand amended." Nothing in Sobel's voice changed. It was downright uncanny. "And did you ever receive compensation for your services?"

Her stomach soured on the implication. "Never. He – we," she struggled through her weakened state to find words. "It wasn't like that."

"What is the nature of your relationship with R.C. Speirs?"

"He's, uh….fellow employee, I suppose. He works for Mr. Winters and Mr. Nixon."

"What do they employ him for?"

"I don't know exactly." She chose her words carefully. "I've…seen him tend the bar. Manage supply shipments, oversee them personally sometimes. Don't know if he's involved with the bookkeeping."

"Are you married to Mr. Speirs?"

"No." Her heart clenched.

"Was your relationship with Mr. Speirs intimate in nature?"

Could she lie about this one? Whoever the spy was likely didn't know about him. But if she was bound for the gallows regardless, did it really matter? "Yes, it was. And no money."

Sobel's pen continued scratching on the paper. "At this point, testimony has established the defendant was thoroughly acquainted with the guilty parties in question. There can be no case made for the defendant not recognizing or not knowing the fugitive Speirs who was being harbored by Winters and Nixon." He paused for a bite of biscuit. "Now, when did you become aware that Mr. Speirs was wanted by the law?"

"I didn't know."

"Do I need to remind you –"

"I said I didn't know." She wasn't going to admit to having seen his wanted poster. She drew a sharp breath. "At least, I didn't know until after the shootout at the saloon, and after Mr. Winters turned me away. I…I came back to town and saw the poster. Thieving and looting, I think was the listed crime."

"You mean to say that all while Mr. Speirs was harbored at the saloon, you were unaware of his crimes."

"Yes."

"Did you know that he was injured?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how he came to be injured?"

"He was shot."

"Were you aware that he was shot by Marshal Dike in performance of his duties?"

She grit her teeth, doing her best to offer the judge a level glare. "No, I was not aware."

Sobel looked down, quickly skimming over his notes. "Given testimony provided, the defendant shared an intimate relationship with Mr. Speirs but was not aware of how he sustained the aforementioned wounds. This does not speak to an intimate relationship wholesome in nature. When taken in context with the aforementioned relationship shared with Mr. Nixon, the defendant has shown herself to be a woman of loose morals whose integrity of character is a subject of doubt for the court."

"Loose morals?" Her brow pinched tighter, anger tightening her jaw. "What crimes do I stand accused of? I asked earlier – surely, I must have a right to know."

Dike snorted a laugh, gnawing on a piece of bacon. Sobel just looked down at her, devoid of all expression. It only angered her further.

"I would have thought that'd be obvious, Miss Martin -"

"Dike said he only hauled me in here for harboring a known criminal. Nothing about my charact-"

"Your character has everything to do with the crime for which you stand accused. For example, if your testimony supported a life of kind deeds, community support, and god-fearing virtue, the court could weigh in favor of your innocence. But your testimony this morning, corroborated by the aforementioned witness of the court, has now established crimes against society of moral indecency, promiscuity and dishonorable intentions."

"But that's not –"

"Another word of backtalk, and I will add contempt for my court to the list." Sobel cut her off with a menacing glare that sent a shiver down her spine. Whatever hope she might have had to escape the gallows withered under his look. His look that told her he would mold her words to suit his purposes no matter what she said, or how she tried to defend herself. There was nothing else she could do. Opening her mouth any further now seemed useless.

"Now," Sobel continued as if he had never stopped, "when taking the defendant's testimony in context with the firsthand account of the court appointed witness, it is clear the integrity of the defendant cannot be established, and therefore, such statements presented here cannot be considered valid by the court." She bit her lip to keep from yelling out. Or yelling out as much as her parched throat would let her. "As such, court has no choice but to render a guilty verdict for all counts. The defendant, Lily Josephine Martin, is hereby sentenced to the gallows where she will be hung by the neck until dead. Sentence shall be executed two weeks from today."

Dike guffawed in disgust as tears welled in her eyes. "Two weeks from today? Hell, Herbert it's early enough – let's hang her today and be done with it. Surely, that'll bring those boys -"

"All in due time, Norman." Sobel said, without looking up from his ledger as he continued to write. "The proper documents must be prepared and the system allowed to process her accordingly before the just sentence is served."

"Just sentence." She grumbled, a tear rolling down her cheek. "There is no justice in what you're doing. Either of you. They're not…none of us are the criminals you say we are."

"Oh, please," Dike rolled his eyes on a yawn, "so you were fucking two of them. Doesn't mean you know what these men are capable of."

"Probably not." She agreed. "But I do know that they are loyal and capable of far more than you give them credit. And yes, Dick may have dismissed me because he suspected a spy which you've already tipped that hand. But when he and the others hear that you've swung me from the gallows – there's no place in the world that you two cockless bastards will be able to hide where they won't find you."

Anger blazed in Dike's eyes as he took a sharp step forward, only to be stopped as Sobel rose from the desk. The corners of his mouth tightened as he took small measured steps over to her cell, the expression on his face otherwise unchanged. He stopped before the bars, hands clasped behind his back.

"Stand up, Miss Martin." There was no mistaking the command. With slow, shaky movements, she struggled to her feet. Her muscles, stiff from the cold and curled up position, protested as she stood looking up at the judge who stood a good head taller. "Now, let me be very clear," he continued, his voice deadly calm, lethal. "You will maintain a civil tongue in your unprepossessing face; otherwise, we will arrange to have it taken care of."

She shook her head, shaking with anger. "I knew it…I fucking knew it." She hissed. "They said Dike was crooked. Dirty. Speculated that you were, too. Hang me and they'll have all the proof they need, you lying little shit. How will you do it, hmm? Cut my tongue out yourself? No – no, you're much too much of a dude to get your hands dirty. Probably hire someone to make it look like a raid or attack on the jail. Natives, right? It's easy to blame them for so much."

Sobel's eyes widened, but he remained otherwise unimpressed. "The gallows will be too merciful for you, Miss Martin." He returned to the desk without another glance, making a last notation before wiping off the tip of his quill and closing the ledger. "I'll have the papers sent once they've been processed by my office. Then, execution of the sentence may proceed."

"What…," Dike paused, yawning, "you won't be here for the hanging?"

"Regrettably, I must pass." Sobel said, rising and straightening his jacket, reaching for his coat. "There are so many greater needs in the territory. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, of course." Dike motioned to the remains of the breakfast. "Would you care for anymore before you go?"

"I couldn't possibly eat another bite, delicious as it was. Please pass along my compliments."

"High praise, sir. Thank you."

"As for the rest, do what you will with it." Sobel cut a scathing look at her in the cell. "Toss it to the pigs for all I care."


	12. October Part I

"Eight dollars for this slop?" Nix stared down at the bowl of brown chunks in brown sauce, trying to conceal his disgust. "What a crime."

Dick shrugged through a mouthful of bread. "It's better than what I could cook."

"That's not reassuring." He poked at the bowl of supposed food with the battered spoon, scooping up a bite. Surprisingly, it actually tasted alright, despite how unappetizing it looked. He reached for a hunk of bread, gnawing off a piece.

Finding Elsie's Tasty Food Emporium in the midst of Wellsville had been a stroke of luck. The ramshackle town was clearly without establishment - much like Frymore - but at least there was one place to eat that offered more than just the standard trail grub that they'd been eating for weeks. And after the revelations of the safe last week? Well. They could spare an attempt at comforting luxury.

As he continued to chew, he recalled all the notices posted outside the 'Wellsville Pioneer' newspaper office. The wanted ad for the job of sheriff had made Nix chuckle a few days ago, and even thinking back on it now brought a smile to his face. "Have you considered applying for the job of sheriff here?"

Dick chewed thoughtfully, at last looking up at Nix with a conspiratorial smile. "Never even crossed my mind."

"Aw, come on. With a shiny new star on your chest, you could take Dike head-on. Challenge him to a showdown."

He laughed through a bite. "I've never seen him draw."

"Enh, I'm sure you're faster. Probably more accurate, too."

"He did manage to hit Speirs."

Nix swallowed the combined bite of bread and stew. "Managed to hit him, yes. But he was probably aiming for something a little more lethal."

"Good thing he missed."

Nix sighed, glancing down at his plate with a sudden, solemn air. "Do you really think Sink will help us? We don't have a whole lot to go on, and so far, we haven't had a lot of luck tracking down his whereabouts."

"We have to keep trying." There was no doubt in Dick's mind and it echoed in the conviction of his words. "Maybe we don't have all the answers in the documents from the safe, but Sink has the resources to access more information. There's at least enough of a sickening story there to get something started. To pull Dike in for questioning, at least."

"At least." Nix agreed, looking back up at Dick, his eyes heavy. "You know, if someone came for you like that - to lock you up because of _this_ …I don't know what I would do, Dick." He wanted to reach for Dick's hand, to wrap him up in a protective hug. Fortunately, Dick seemed to understand him and certainly knew better than to verbalize any of the thoughts that swirled in his sky blue eyes. A boot bumped Nix's under the table, a little smirk curling Dick's lips as their boots toed together under cover of the table. They couldn't dare risk anything more.

"Howdy, fellas!" A loud, boisterous voice cut between them. "May I join you? It's a little tight at these 'ere tables."

"Of course." Dick looked up with a welcoming smile, scooting over on the bench seat to make room.

"Much obliged." The larger man stuffed into the newly created opening, jostling Dick as the table moved. Nix couldn't hold back a little smirk at the look Dick shot him across the table. It was still so wonderfully liberating to connect with Dick on a whole new level. He ached for a night when they would be alone with a proper bed. "You fellas here to prospect?"

"No," Nix answered glancing over, "didn't even know these hills were ripe for prospecting."

The man let out a belly-rolling laugh. "Why else would you come to this flea-infested hole if not for the promise of strikin' it rich! Gold, silver, gems – all of it's up in these here hills." The man slopped a spoonful of stew to his lips. "Not that I'm trying to sway you – if you're not here to stake a claim, then that's one less man for me to have to deal with."

"What sort of gems?" Dick asked.

"Oh, all kinds – blue, green, purple. Red ones, even."

"Certainly sounds like all kinds." Nix quipped dryly.

"If you fellas ain't here to prospect, then what brings you to Wellsville – if you don't take offense to the question." The man held up his spoon defensively as if just realizing his question might be unwelcome. "Not that it really matters – and if you do take offense, I hope that you'll just let my stupidity stand."

"No," Dick said quickly, with a nod of reassurance. "No offense taken. We're, uh…we're headed north to Montana. Looking to get in on the ranching business up there."

"Ranching? Montana?" The man let out another rowdy laugh. "Boy, you fellas got it all wrong. Going north to Montana for ranching, when all the riches of your future could await you in them hills." He yanked off a bite of bread, smacking it between his teeth as he looked between Dick and Nix incredulously. "Why work so hard for something unrewarding when there's an easier way?"

Dick shrugged, absently swiping his bread through the remains of liquid on his plate. "A good question. Guess it's just how I was raised."

"You know, sir – I admire that." He held out a hand over the various setting of dishes. "Fairweather's the name."

"Winters." Dick took it with a firm shake and a nod.

"Nixon." Nix tipped his head in greeting as Fairweather did the same.

"Nice acquainting you two." Fairweather settled back in his seat, picking up his spoon and hefting a solid bite. "You two ever eaten at Elsie's before?"

"First time." Nix admitted.

"It's complete shit, but it's better than the breakfast in the Grand Hotel. Maggots right in the middle of stale biscuits. Rancid bacon that makes my boots smell good 'nuff to eat."

Nix conjured a tight-lipped smile against the disgusting images that threatened to sour his stomach. "We'll take your word for it." He looked back down to his plate, scooping up the last bites.

"You fellas in town for long? There's this gal, Beulah, down at Madame Clara's who'll do right by your cock and then some." Fairweather waggled his eyebrows with another roaring laugh.

"I don't doubt it." Dick said, looking over at Nix, a plea in his gaze. "Well, we better get moving, Nix. Re-provisioning won't take care of itself."

"Right you are. We got a long day of inventorying and stocking ahead." Nix said, looking at Fairweather with a polite nod. "Enjoy the rest of your breakfast…if you can."

"It's a struggle, but it ain't killed me yet." Fairweather laughed at his own joke, looking between them as they rose. "Good luck on your trip north. Perhaps I'll see you again here or at Madam Clara's." The man gave a lewd wink. "If not, then be careful going north – there's heathens everywhere just itching to claim a scalp."

"We'll just have to be careful." Dick nodded down in farewell. "Take care, Fairweather."

"You too, sir. You, too!"

Nix chuckled as he fell into step beside Dick, rounding the long table to dispose of their dishes. "Never known you to lie so smooth." He cast Dick a proud look, enjoying the blush that colored the other man's cheeks. "He didn't seem like a bad sort."

"No." Dick agreed. "But far too crude. There's no call for it – especially not at such an early hour in the morning."

"Not all these roughnecks had the benefit of eastern upbringing."

"It's more than just that."

"Oh, I understand. Just look at me – all good manners and not a shred of decency."

Dick looked over with a sly, amused grin. Something about it made Nix's heart flutter.

"Mr. Winters. Mr. Nixon." They both turned at the sound of Roe's voice, their smiles falling away as they took in the younger man. The tense, sullen set of his face couldn't be good.

"What is it?" Dick asked, face creasing with concern.

His eyes darted impatiently between Dick and Nix. "You seen the notice board this morning?"

"No."

"Didn't think to look."

Roe's lips set in a tight line, forcing a hard swallow. "Well, you ought to."

xxx

 **LILY JOSEPHINE MARTIN**

 **Of Bluewater, Colorado Territory**

 **Has been found GUILTY of HARBORING FUGITIVES and MORAL INDECENCY**

 **And sentenced to HANG BY THE NECK UNTIL DEAD on this day OCTOBER 6 1880**

 **U.S. MARSHAL N. S. DIKE PRESIDING**

All five men stared at the notice hanging front and center on the board. It just…it couldn't be true. Lily had no part to play in any of it. She had only done what she was told.

"That's only five days away." Lip said quietly, almost reverently.

"Told you she wasn't our spy." Nix watched Dick's jaw tighten on his words.

"I see that now." Dick ground the words out, tearing his gaze from the notice with a heavy sigh.

"We have to help her." Lip looked among the group, searching out the others' responses. Speirs was the most concerning – staring intently at the notice, as if his gaze would set the paper on fire. Lip noticed the man's fist clenched tight at his side, everything about him utterly still.

"The only way to do that is turn ourselves in." Roe said. "We do that, then Dike and Sobel win."

"Then we'll just have to find another way." Nix said, already sounding defeated. "A straight up break-in and rescue still keeps us on the run, and that's a real crime they can pin on us. No matter how phony the reason for her imprisonment is."

Speirs abruptly turned from the group, stalking off down the street, radiating a mad lethality with each step.

"Ron!" Dick called out after him, moving in a fast walk to catch up.

"Don't delay me, Dick. Bluewater is easily an 8 day ride from here."

"Doggone it, you will hear what I have to say first." Dick reached out, wrapping a hand tight around Speirs' forearm, arresting his steps. He turned around, eyes blazing as Dick stared back. For a split second, Nix thought Speirs might actually shoot Dick on the spot. God, Lily had been so wrong about him.

"Speak your piece."

Dick held his gaze, unflinching. "Don't take any chances that you don't have to - I want foolproof and as safe as possible. And if you're too late." Speirs' jaw tensed further. "If you're too late," Dick repeated, "you leave – fall back and hold up until we arrive. Losing you and Lily both won't do anyone any good. We'll follow what we have for two more days, then we'll ride for Bluewater."

"Anything else?"

Dick's face softened, resigned as he let Speirs' arm go. "Don't turn full outlaw on us. Be smarter than that. You hear me?"

Speirs nodded, the movement harsh with a razor-sharp flash of teeth. "I hear you." He turned around as quickly as he'd left the first time, continuing down the street. Dick really hoped it wouldn't be the last time that he saw Ronald Speirs.

Roe brushed by him in fast steps, breaking him from his thoughts. He stared after the younger man. "Where are you going, Gene?"

Roe looked positively annoyed as he cast a glance over his shoulder. "Someone needs to be there to fix him up when he gets his fool-head shot off."

"I heard that." Speirs called back.

"Good." Roe caught up to walk briskly alongside the taller man. "Cause you're a damn fool – riding out like this."

"Then what's that make you for joining me?"

"I wouldn't be going if you weren't."

"Then don't come with me." They reached the rack where their horses were hitched, undoing the ties. "You'll only slow me down."

"I'd like to see you try, city boy." Roe shot a tight glare over his horse. "I'll outride you if I've a mind to."

"Then let's hope you do, bayou boy. Time's not on our side" Speirs swung up on his horse, adjusting his hold on the reins. "We'll barter change out of horses as we go."

"I have some grub left in my bags."

With a quick nod, Speirs sunk his heels into the horse's flank, urging it to a cant with Roe close at his side.

* * *

Footsteps sounded on the porch outside. Some dull, some sharp. Both made her head throb from where she sat braced against the wall, fighting to keep her eyes open. It was so hard to stay awake these days. She just had nothing left.

The door opened, admitting the soft light of twilight and the sharper footsteps.

"No, thank you, Norman." Alice's familiar, honey-sweet voice drifted through the air as she entered the jail. She looked back out to the porch with a small smile and a nod. "I promise I'll be alright."

With a quiet thud, the door closed as Alice turned to gaze down at her. Lily couldn't believe it as she stared back at the woman clad in a fine wool dress. She looked every bit the respectable lady of society. Her blood curdled at the realization – it was Alice. Alice who had passed along information to Dike. Alice who had brought the full force of his corrupted power down on them. Alice who had betrayed everyone.

"How could you?" Lily hissed, shooting the best glare she could muster at the prim, well-put together woman. She knew how she looked and sounded by comparison after weeks in this cell, but couldn't bring herself to care one whit.

"How could I not, don't you mean?" Alice sounded genuinely affronted. "Those men – all of them – was breaking the law, and I couldn't stand by any longer. Something had to be done to bring them to justice."

"To bring them to justice? What about Norman?" She implored, staring at Alice like she'd never seen the woman before. "What about Sobel?"

"They's only doing their sworn duties to uphold the law." Alice sniffed, unbothered. "Just because you went and gave your heart to those men doesn't make them right."

"Nor does it make Norman right just because he told you…whatever it was he told you to make you into a turncoat."

A small, private smile came to Alice's face. "He offered me what no one else ever has – a chance to start over. A respectable position as wife of a US Marshal."

"Oh, Alice…." Lily sighed, her gaze heavy with pity. "Please don't tell me you betrayed us all just because of that. You…you saw what Dick did for Ginny when she took with child. If you had just said you wanted out, I'm sure he would have helped you."

"What's his help without something to keep me going? He wouldn't have married me, and I don't think I would have wanted him to. Sure, he played holy – always attending the Sunday services, and paying dues to the coffers. But now I see all that for what it was. He was only trying to purge his sins and the guilt. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but shame on him for not being enough of a man to bring an end to it."

Lily shook her head, anger mounting. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Oh, don't I?" Alice strutted more into the room, chin held high in a condescending gaze. "Of us two, who's the fallen woman locked in a cell and bound for the gallows? And who's the woman cleansed of her former sins with the promise of position in her future?"

"Whatever promises you think Norman Dike has made you, I'm sure they are all falsehoods. His only goal is to save his own skin – and the men of Easy know too much for him to be safe. He won't rest until they're all brought in."

"And he shouldn't. Such outlaws shouldn't be allowed to roam the countryside." Alice shook her head, a pitying motion. "You might have had their confidence, but when it came down to the end, they cast us both aide. Like yesterday's trash. I can only imagine how much that must have hurt you – believing you were so close to them."

"What about you, hm?"

"None of them wanted me. So, I found someone who did. And the more Norman explained what the men of the Easy Saloon did, the gladder I became that none of them wanted me for anything. I'll never look at any of them the same way again."

"You're wrong. Whatever Dike has told you, it couldn't be more wrong."

"I'm sorry they have you so caught up in their lies." Alice's face creased with sad lines. "I don't want to see you hanged. Not really, you know. But if you don't help the proper men bring them to justice, then I won't lose any sleep over seeing you swing."

"I wouldn't expect you to, anyway." Lily snarled, wanting to wipe the smug look from Alice's face. "Not for a 'fallen woman' like myself."

"You are fallen, Lily. Whatever redemption you might have hoped for at any of their hands, it will never have come. They're liars and killers and thieves –"

"And Norman Dike is the worst of them all."

Alice sighed resolutely, looking down at the floor before glancing back to Lily. "I came here to try and help you. I already told you that I don't want to see you hanged, but if you won't listen to me, I cannot help you."

"I don't need your help." Lily glared. "Let me hang. The injustice of it will bring a swifter retribution down on Dike and Sobel's heads once the men of Easy find out."

"If you say so." Alice heaved a resigned sigh once more, moving for the door. "I would pray for your soul, but I don't think there's any saving it."

"Probably not." Lily agreed, a sneer in her voice as the other woman stepped back out onto the porch.

Another low murmuring of voices could be heard as footfalls thudded away until silence returned.

Her hanging was only two days away now. Tears stung her eyes to think how close it really was. Would these really be her last days on Earth? Did Dick and Lew know that she would die in two days? Did Ron?

She heaved a shaky breath, fighting to keep the tears back and the blackness from taking over the edges of her mind. She couldn't let any of them see her cry – not Dike, not Sobel, not Alice. She knew that she was right. She knew that they were wrong. And if her neck did snap by the hangman's rope, she knew she would be avenged.

Wouldn't she?

* * *

The nights slowed them down more than Speirs would have liked. But a horse's broken ankle would slow them down even more. Between some combination of his luck and Roe's spiritualism, they had been afforded clear, moonless nights so far, and tonight was no exception.

Except that they had to stop. The horses were ragged. They had last bartered a changeover about 20 miles back, but they couldn't push them any further without serious harm. And if Speirs was being honest with himself, both he and Roe could use some sleep. It'd been well over 72 hours since they'd left Wellsville, but they were nearing their limits.

Roe yawned again, stretching out against the thin blanket he used as a bedroll. They'd stopped near a flowing creek, in a former riverbed, so at least the ground was sandy soft. The horses had plenty of grass and water available.

Roe crossed his boot-clad ankles, resting his hat just over his eyes before laying his hands across his chest. "Three hours, all right?"

"Yes – I'll wake you in three hours." Speirs confirmed, his voice rough from dust and days without rest.

"You bettah." Roe's accent was thicker in his exhaustion. "You need to sleep, too. Don't think I don't know that you're hurtin' over that notice."

"I know." Speirs wasn't sure he could bring himself to voice much more. Not until Lily was safe.

"You figure out yet what we're gunna do when we get therah?"

"Not fully."

"I still think creatin' a distraction is the way to go."

"I don't disagree. It just needs to be something that keeps Dike off the scaffold long enough."

Roe hummed sleepily. "Maybe we'll need two distractions."

"Time's wasting - you're supposed to be sleeping."

"With pleasure, sir." The last word come out more of a 'suh' sound than anything, and Speirs couldn't help a tired lift of his lips. Nixon always claimed he could never quite understand Roe when he got exhausted. It made Speirs wonder how Roe fared on those extended shifts behind the bar. Could the patrons understand him in the wee hours of the morning?

A memory sparked in Speirs' brain. A distant recollection of a conversation he vaguely overheard some years back.

He fixed his gaze on the reclining man in the dim starlight. "You still awake?"

"No," Roe grumbled, "you just told me I should be sleepin'."

"Well, since you're still awake," Speirs plowed ahead undeterred, "tell me again about that night at the bar with the firecrackers."

* * *

Up Next:

October Part II - In which it's hanging day.


	13. October Part II

Rain fell in thick sheets against the jailhouse all night long, adding to the damp chill in the air. It had tapered off for a short while just before dawn, or what she thought should have been dawn. It was disappointing to know that the clouds had denied her the last sunrise she would see. But she tried to focus on other things, other details instead. The sound of the water pattering off the wood exterior, the wet smell that filled the air, the rough wood beneath her fingertips.

The peace of her loneliness passed quickly, and US Marshal Dike descended with Reverend Clark. The soggy smell of rain accompanied them, water dripping and puddling off their slickers.

The minister's eyes were wide and sorrowful as he gazed in at her. "My child." His voice had always been warm and pleasant. "God forgives those who repent and seek his mercy. Do you wish to enter his holy kingdom?"

Dike snorted. "I don't think any words from you will win her that much favor after the noose."

"That is not for you to decide, Norman." Clark scolded with a gentle turn of his head. "God listens to all his children, and I do not believe Miss Martin is so far gone that he has stopped listening to her."

Something about that thought was reassuring, and her lips lifted in a tiny crack of a smile. "Thank you, reverend. But I stopped listening to him years ago. It don't seem right now to impose on him when I've shunned him for so long.

"Even now? At the hour of your death, you will not call to him?" Clark sounded disappointed, clutching his bible tighter.

She swallowed hard, blowing a shaky breath. But that was from hunger. She was too hungry to waste energy on fear and nerves. "No, reverend. I've said my piece, and I'll find my own way – just like I did in this life."

Clark bowed his head, obviously regretful. "I am sorry that you feel that way. I shall pray for you up there today."

"Good. Now with that done," Dike said, boots thumping heavily as he neared her cell, keys jingling. "We got a whole parcel of people out there, standing in the rain, waiting to see you swing. Best not keep them waiting."

She gulped, hands clenched together as the cell door swung open and Dike entered. He reached for her wrists faster than she could think in her starving, muddled state, binding them tight together. A tear leaked from her eye as he pulled her forward by the rope, her stocking-clad feet numb to the cold and sore to move. A shiver raced through her as Clark opened the door to the rain that now fell with a gentle flow.

"May God have mercy on your soul, child." The reverend gave her a nod that held such an air of finality as Dike pulled her forward and out onto the porch. Another shiver shook her limbs, the damp chill biting through her filthy cotton dress as she was lead down the steps into the falling rain.

The street mud soaked through her clothing as she staggered along, ignoring all the faces in the crowd, fixated on the town scaffold. She could vaguely hear Dike answering questions, offering comments to people as they passed, but in her hazy state, her mind couldn't focus on any of it.

Rainwater ran down her face as she looked down to her feet, starting up the stairs. It sounded like a general chorus of boos and hisses were now rising from the crowd. She could certainly hear the slurs yelled out against her – Whore! Harlot! Sinner! Criminal! A tear rolled down her cheek, mixing with the rain as she continued up the slippery stairs, huffing for breath, using the last bit of energy she had. It wouldn't matter soon enough.

She reached the top, not feeling Dike's hold on the rope slacken, stumbling as he pulled her forward. With an ungraceful tumble, she hit the scaffold platform with a wet splat.

"Git up, whore. Come on, now." An unfamiliar nasally voice called out from above, rough hands seizing her shoulders and midsection. "Come on – on yet feet. Can't hang ya lyin' down like that."

She tried to offer a protest, but no words came as the unknown man pushed her forward, her head snapping up to see the dangling noose just in front of her face. With a trembling lip, she turned out to face the crowd, blinking around the raindrops.

Were they really not out there? Did they not know? Had no one really come? It was impossible to tell anyone apart in the rain – too many dark hats and slickers, some umbrellas. A fear she hadn't felt inside the jail pitted in her stomach, bringing more tears to her eyes. Her gaze drifted skyward, eyes dropping closed. Was it too late to make a heavenly plea?

Harsh reality returned as the cold, wet rope brushed against her hair, bumping into her face as it was lowered to settle around her neck. She gasped against the sudden yank that Dike gave before his hands fell to the binding on her hands, pulling her to stand more squarely over the trap door. Her heart slammed in her chest, blood screaming with every survival instinct. This couldn't be it. Surely…surely…

"People! People!" Dike's voice rang out, quieting the general rabble. "You have come here to witness the passing of sentence on Lily Josephine Martin! Found guilty of harboring fugitives of the law and moral indecency of the most abhorrent nature!" The crowd roared their disgust for her crimes and excitement at the justice to be served. Tears stung her eyes.

"The prisoner has declined to hear or accept any of God's last mercy," Dike continued, more guffaws rising from the crowd, "but in her last moments – in your last moments, Lily Josephine Martin." He fixed his eyes on her, doing his best to affect an aura of imposing righteousness. "I pray God's judgement be served on your soul, and if he deems you worthy of mercy, then I shall stand corrected. If you have any last words, say them now."

She licked her lips, thoughts flooding her mind. What words could she make matter here, now at the end? "The man – the men that Dike says are fugitives. They're not – they're just doing their part to help people. The marshal's the crooked one – and that judge!"

"Enough!" Dike roared, stepping forward, hands falling roughly to her shoulders to reign her in.

"They're the ones that should hang for their crimes!" She continued on, emboldened. "The men of Easy saved me, gave me the best life." She struggled against Dike's hold, turning her head to avoid his hand that now held a cloth. "And I love him – Ronmmfph!" Dike forced the cloth between her lips, stuffing her mouth full to stifle any additional words.

A murmur rose from the crowd as Dike stepped back, a hand tight on the back of her head in a clear threat.

"Regrettable that you would use your last words to spread lies, Miss Martin, but it should have been expected from someone of such poor moral fiber." He sighed, a relieved sound. "Hangman? Proceed."

The scaffold shook with heavy footfalls behind her, her eyes searching the crowd pleadingly, screaming muffled words into the cloth that filled her mouth. Would she even have a warning before the trap door opened?

"Marshal Dike! Marshal Dike! Quick!" A voice hollered out from the crowd, clearly panicked. A short, fat man was doing his best to run towards the group, waving and forcing his way through the throng. "They're here! Those criminals! They're – they're robbing the Citizen's Chamber." He pointed animatedly, his face imploring. "I just…they just barely missed shooting me! Please!"

Dike huffed, looking over his shoulder at the hangman, clearly torn on what to do. He looked back to the red-faced little man, his jaw tensing. "Robbing a citizen's chamber doesn't sound like them, Mr. Wilkins."

"Marshal, please! You hung that wanted poster for the one who was wanted for lootin' and theiven'." Wilkins seemed to be getting impossibly redder, more agitated. "Marshal – you have to stop them! Before they rob what the town has!"

"Goddamit." Dike swore under his breath, turning with a murderous glare towards the hangman. "Shoot anyone who lays a hand or foot on this scaffold who isn't me, you hear? This smells like a trap to me."

"I'll just pull the lever, Marshal." The nasally voiced hangman replied. "Then she's done and we're done."

"No," Dike grumbled, starting down the stairs. "They're obviously planning to hold the town money in ransom for her life. She may need to live just a little bit longer. Remember," he turned back up towards the hangman with a pointed glare, "if anyone makes a move on the scaffold – shoot 'em."

"Yes, sir!" The cocking of a shotgun sounded behind her as she frantically searched the crowd, wondering if it really was true.

"Come on, Marshal! Hurry! You, too – come along! Maybe we can outnumber them!" The larger man rallied others to his cause, a small posse forming around Dike as he started to work through the crowd.

"Y'all 'member what he said now," the hangman stepped around her, towards the front end of the scaffold, scanning the crowd with the barrel of the shotgun, "no one even think'a touchin' this here scaffold."

A general rumble rose from the crowd, dismay at the delay, concern at the reported robbery. Her heart pounded with hope to think it could actually be true. Of course, they had to have known! She watched Dike continue his way through the crowd, offering reassurances as he went – until a shot rang out. No, multiple shots. Fast-paced shots.

Dark hats, jackets and umbrellas started running every which way, the air loud with women's screams, and men's hollers, over the continued noise of rapid shots. The hangman started firing his shotgun – at who or what, she couldn't tell in all of the panicked chaos that had erupted without warning. Maybe Dike was yelling out? Trapped as he was in the middle of the rushing, terrified crowd.

The rapid, popping shots continued, adding to the bleary chaos. A woman screamed as the hangman on the scaffold doubled over, falling head first into the crowd. She couldn't believe it as she stared – the sounds of screaming all around here, Dike's cries getting lost in the crowd.

A short, slim, black slicker clad figure charged up the scaffold stairs as another rode up alongside the scaffold on horseback, a riderless horse at his side.

"Come on." Gene's voiced washed over her as he reached for the noose. "Didn't think we'd really let you hang, did you?"

She sobbed with audible relief, her knees going instantly weak as the rope was lifted free and he wrapped an arm around to steer over to the edge of the scaffold, undoing the bond around her wrists with the other. The other man on horseback had turned in the saddle, firing off sharp shots from his Peacemaker. Through the tears in her eyes, she could just make out Ron's handsome features beneath his dark hat. An answering gunshot sounded from the crowd.

"Get on." Gene encouraged, helping her kneel and slide onto the back of Ron's horse.

Ron turned back around, pulling one of her arms around his wet slicker as he holstered his gun. "Can you hold on?"

"For dear life." Her other arm came around his midsection, wrapping around him in a desperate cling.

She slumped against his back as the horse took off in a jarring gallop, the rest of the world falling to a blur.

xxx

She didn't remember much about how they got here, how long they rode. She remembered the painful, jarring movements of the horse; the reassuring warmth of Ron's back; and the boneless relief that overtook her. Maybe there'd been a night in there somewhere? She really couldn't say.

She just knew that Dick, Lew, Ron - all of them - had to know about her. And even better, they had come for her. He came back.

She clung tighter to Ron's side as she hobbled on unstable legs towards…whatever building this way. She could hear Ron and Gene's voices swirling around her, but the words were lost in the overwhelming comfort of their familiar tones. Tears stung at her eyes, overjoyed, and then she hit a wall of heat as the door opened.

"Careful, now." Ron's voice rumbled low in her ear as she felt his hold on her shuffle. "You can't go to sleep just yet."

"Hmm, and why no..." Her head lolled against his shoulder, melting in the warmth of the room. She didn't know where they were, but had she ever felt a place so warm? He lead her over towards another room, another wave of heat bringing a distant smile to her face.

"She needs to get out of those clothes." Gene said, his voice hesitant. "Then, she should drink something warm. I'll, uh…I'll go find something."

She registered the sound of a door closing as Ron guided over to he sit on something soft. A bed. A real bed with quilts.

"Can you…you heard what he said." Ron looked at her hesitantly.

She raised an unsteady hand to the top button of her dress, fumbling as she struggled to pop it loose. His hands came around hers, guiding it free. He dropped to the next button with a tentative exhale that drew her gaze to his face. His hair hung in wet swoops across his forehead, dark circles under his eyes, and a dark covering of facial hair colored his jaw. He looked at least ten years older and utterly exhausted – she just wanted to hold him close, soothe his troubles away.

His fingers fumbled with a button and he bit his lip. She'd never known him to hesitate undressing her before. She didn't think it should be any different now, but it was – this felt too raw. Too exposed.

"Never again."

She couldn't even be sure that he'd spoken, the words were so soft and rushed. She looked up at him, confusion pinching her brow. "What'd you say?"

"Never again." He repeated. "We shouldn't have left you – _I_ shouldn't have left you. I don't want to leave you. Or share you ever again. Not with Nixon. Not with anyone." He met her gaze with a fierce conviction. "Never again."

Her heart caught in her throat, stunned. She stared back at him, every emotion raw on her face as tears wet her eyes. "You really mean that?"

"I'll give you a gold band soon as I can to prove it."

The first tear rolled down her cheek, her smile trembling. "You…you will?"

A soft, crooked smile cracked his face as he brought a hand up to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her wet skin. "Yes." Another tear caught his thumb. "Took me thinking I almost had to live without you to realize that I didn't want to. Whatever I have to do to convince you of that."

She sniffled. "I don't need no convincing, Ron. I've loved you for years – wanted to tell you so many times."

"I know. You were terrible at hiding it towards the end."

"Then why didn't you let me?"

"If you'd said it, how could I keep leaving you for weeks at a time when it's something I want to hear you say every day."

"I love you. I love you – and you can't stop me from saying it now." A weight lifted from her chest as the words poured forth, drowning in the warmth of his gaze, overcome with relief and realized love. "I love you. So fucking much, you – you shitheel, bastard! For not letting me tell you. The one damn that I only ever wanted to tell you! And leaving me in the woods. Scared that I'd never be able to tell you."

His free hand rose to her other cheek, brushing at the falling tears as he gently cradled her face. "You're right – I am a shitheel bastard for all of that, and more. Even so, I can't bring myself to stop loving you, too." He leaned in, slow and deliberate, touching his lips to hers.

She froze under his kiss - so soft, undemanding – as the waves broke over the dam. All at once, she surged forward, kissing him for everything she was worth as she pressed into him, savoring the slide of his lips against hers. She wanted to melt into him, lost in the strokes of his tongue and the strong hold of his arms around her. This was everything she had ever wanted in life, found now as she moaned into his mouth, carding her fingers through his hair.

She broke from his lips with a gasping sob, resting her forehead against his, overcome with happy delirium. The heavy weight of his hand against her back, the reassuring press of his chest to hers, and the panting rush of his breath against her lips built her back up as she continued to fall apart.

"Never again." He promised.

* * *

Thinking back on it now, she was pretty sure that she dozed off in Ron's arms. But eventually, they got her out of her soiled dress and into the warm, dry wool trousers and shirt that she wore now. Gene had showed up at some point, bearing a bowl of warm broth with chunks of hardtack floating in it. She had eagerly taken to it, the heat of it seeping through her limbs adding a new lethargy to her wrung-out exhaustion.

She had begged Ron to stay with her. At least until she fell asleep. And, sure enough, the last thing she remembered was the feel of his lips on her forehead, his steady fingers interlaced with hers.

It was morning now, but the thick clouds made it difficult to tell the exact time. She had risen from the bed upon waking, amazed what good the sleep and food had done her. Her limbs still felt a little weak, but all things considered, she was feeling pretty damn good.

She spun the knife lazily against the tabletop, noting the little divot that had started to form in the wood. Upon waking to find that both Gene and Ron were out, she had taken it upon herself to explore their hideout and she still couldn't quite believe where they were.

Everyone said the old abandoned Strothers Brothers mine was exactly that – old and abandoned. Worthless. Dangerous. Both of the boys had died up on this mountain, after all. But this building – the bunkhouse – seemed to be alright. The windows were still largely in place, the roof didn't have any gaping holes. Sure, some of the floorboards looked a little suspect but they had held so far. It had several little bunkrooms and a main room with a large stove. Had this been where the Strothers Brothers slept?

She glanced up, out the window at the main building of the mine. It nestled right up against the bunkhouse, built into the mountainside. The front expanse of the landscape leading up to it was littered with diggings piles and other discarded mining refuse. She wondered where there could possibly be enough grass or hay for horses.

By contrast, the bunkhouse looked to be stocked with plenty of provisions. Stores of tinned food, clothing for all seasons, blankets, weapons, lanterns, various tools. She hadn't heard much hearsay about the mine after the Pueblo Desperadoes were captured. Had all these supplies belonged to them?

Either way, it hadn't stopped her from lifting a knife from the stockpiled goods.

Presumably, Dike was coming for them. He surely couldn't allow such a blatant affront to stand. And if he was coming, then she sure as fucking hell wasn't going back without a fight.

The door squeaked in its hinge as it opened, and she tightened her grip on the knife, raising it in defense.

"Whoa…steady, Lily." Gene smiled reassuringly from under his hat, doing his best to raise a hand in surrender despite the firewood gathered in his arms.

She lowered the knife, doing her best to return his smile. "Sorry, Gene. I thought – I couldn't be sure who it was."

He nodded in understanding as he walked over to the stove. "It's good to see you up. How're you feeling?"

"Alright, actually. The food and sleep really helped."

"To say nothing about the healing power of a whole heart." He looked to her with a small, knowing grin. "He was hurting the whole length of the trail to get to you. Afraid, if we'd been too late, that he'd see the countryside burn in retribution."

Her cheeks started to flush as she met his grin, fingers playing awkwardly over the knife handle. "Well – for both our sakes, then, I'm glad y'all weren't too late."

He looked back to the bucket by the stove, unloading the last of the wood before standing. "Where'd you find the knife?"

"There's a selection of them with the other goods stored in this bunkhouse." She picked it up, dragging the tip along the wood surface. "Wasn't sure where you and Ron had gone, but I wanted to be prepared in case…." She brushed her thumb along the knife's edge as the rest of her words caught in her throat. She may not want to admit to the prospect of Dike finding her, dragging her back to the gallows, but she'd be damned if she was ever caught unaware again.

"And you chose a knife over a gun?"

"I ain't never fired a gun before."

"But you've used a knife?"

"Yes."

Gene drew a breath for another question but the door swung open with a bang as Ron's tall figure breezed through, bringing a cold draft of air to swirl about the main room. "Horses are seen to." He shrugged out of his jacket and hat before looking to her at the table. His gaze instantly fixed on the knife and her thumb dancing along the sharp edge. "Everything alright?"

She nodded. "I…I just wanted some protection while you two were out."

"You should probably reconsider that knife for a shotgun."

"I already told Gene that I ain't never fired a gun before, but I know what to do with a knife."

"One knife won't do much against a hail of bullets."

Her mouth upturned as she shrugged. "Maybe not. But if any of them try to come through that door." She gripped the knife blade tight, squaring her gaze and letting the knife fly. It landed with a hard thunk in the wood wall across the main room, the handle casually protruding out.

Ron looked from the knife to her, suspicious curiosity in his gaze. "That takes practice."

She pushed up from the table. "Yes, it does."

"Lots of practice."

"Yes." She walked over, grunting in effort as she worked the knife out of the wood.

Gene looked between them before settling on Ron, brow furrowed. "You – did you know that she could do that?"

"No." Both sets of eyes were on her as she turned back for the table. "Why didn't you say you were practiced with knives?"

She shrugged, unconcerned. "Dick made me promise not to tell."

X

 _Six Years Ago_

"Don't beat on me, Ed."

"Shut-up and take it, bitch." Ed grunted, thrusting into her again as she grimaced, bracing on the edge of the table. "That's it...goddamn. You're a bad girl, ain't ya? A real bad girl."

She cried out as Ed's hand connected with her face again. This time, his knuckles caught her just beneath her right eye, the skin still tender from his last below. "Don't. Beat. On. Me. Again." She growled through clenched teeth, bracing against the onslaught of his hips.

"Or what, whore?" He snarled on another particularly hard thrust, her back slamming into the wall. "Or nothing. You can't do shit to me." His hand flew before she could register it, another cry of pain on her lips as he smacked her across the face.

She breathed through the screaming agony in her nose, the tang of blood in her mouth as her hands scrambled under the table's edge. The knife slipped free of its hiding place and she drew it up between the pounding movements of his body, slashing blindly at his midsection.

He pulled back with a roaring howl, slipping free of her body as he staggered back with his trousers around his ankles.

"You. Bitch!" He hollered, eyes blazing as he stared down at the blood from the slash across his stomach. "You're gonna fucking pay for that!" He started inching for the door, reaching down to gather his pants, trying to pull them up.

"I said it - said you not to beat on me." She shrugged her shift up over her shoulders, still wielding the knife between them.

"And then you pull a fucking knife on me!"

She lunged as he threw open the door open, clutching his trousers loosely in one hand, the other pressed to his stomach.

"Help! This whore knifed me! She's got a knife!" The general din of the saloon died down, all eyes settling on Ed as he rushed out of her room. It did nothing to deter her as she pursued him, knife brandished and ready. "Someone shoot her, godammit!"

"Oh Lily, Lily…That's quite enough, now." Jimmy, her owner, stepped forward from the crowd, annoyed disappointment darkening his face. "Give me the knife. Now."

"No." She snarled, fixing her gaze back on Ed, jabbing the knife forward, delighting in watching him flinch. "I told him many'a times not to go beatin' on me." She fixed her gaze on Jimmy, sure that she made quite the picture. Blood pouring out of her nose, her right eye threatening to swell shut, and that was to say nothing of her threadbare shift, her disheveled hair. "And he jist went on fucking. Hitting. Me. Well, no more!" She jerked back to look at Ed, smiling at the small pool of blood that had formed at his feet.

A solid force slammed into her back, gripping her wrist in a wrenching hold. She cried out against the assault, struggling against her attacker as the knife was pried from her fingers with brute force. The knife skittered against the wood and she groaned, frustrated to watch Ed relax as she was subdued.

"Oh, Lily...honey, I'd apologize, but you have brought this on yourself." Jimmy stepped up to her, attempting a remorseful look though nothing in his voice supported it. His backhand sent her reeling as her captor threw her across the room, landing chest down against the dirty, sawdust and chewing-wad laden floor. Laughter erupted around her as her vision swam, her head spinning. Her face screamed at the impact and she spit the growing pool of blood in her mouth onto the floor. She struggled to breathe, to regain clarity, just able to hear Jimmy's voice over the rush of blood in her ears.

"Apologies for such a disruption. I assure you - there are no more bad apples in my barrel. And as a good show of my fucking faith on that subject - a round of drinks are on the house. And -"

She ignored the rest of Jimmy's words, focusing instead on the pair of boots closest to her. There was a familiar outline, hidden ever so subtly, in the leather. Her previous knife was out of reach, but this one? This one was right in her face. She glanced up at the man wearing the boots, surprised to see him looking down at her. Him, with his startlingly red hair and blue eyes; and his friend, with dark, thick hair and brows. The concern on both of their faces was staggering.

She spit out another mouthful of blood, dropping her gaze back to the redhead's boot with obvious intent. If he wanted to stop her, she knew he would. She lunged forward, reaching in the leather of his boot and pulling the knife free. She rolled over, easily spotting Ed in the crowd, heaving relieved sighs as he talked with Jimmy.

"She's another knife!" A man in the crowd hollered out as she lined up her shot.

The knife flew from her hand, embedding squarely in Ed's gut. The air punched out of him with a strangled cry as he crumpled to the ground under the force of her blow. Guns flew out of holsters as Jimmy's eyes blazed.

"Gentlemen, don't be rash, please." A voice sounded overhead and she looked back to see the redheaded man standing calmly, his gun drawn. "This woman is under my protection."

"I own that woman." Jimmy sneered. "Just who the fuck are you?"

"You don't want to know." The dark-haired man answered, tipping back his whiskey in a smooth go.

"And why don't I want to fucking know?" She recognized Jimmy's impatient tone.

"Because we're not supposed to say who we are, so we would have to kill you if we say." The dark-haired man sighed dramatically. "And that's more time and mess than we, sadly, have to spare."

"So, we'll be leaving. And this woman is coming with us." The redhead finished, reaching a hand down to her. She couldn't believe her ears. Were they actually serious? Slowly, she reached for his hand, struggling to her feet. She did her best to offer a nod of thanks, pain splitting her skull at the movement.

"What about Ed here?" Jimmy gestured at the man now laying motionless on the floor. "She needs to be brought to account for her murder."

"One look at her face and anyone'll know it was self defense." The dark-haired man stepped alongside the redhead. "Don't you worry - we'll see that she gets what's coming to her."

She stared sharply at him, mouth pursing in betrayal. Were they only rescuing her from this hell to turn her over to the sheriff?

Jimmy sighed, a frustrated, angry sound. "Fine. So fucking be it! Take her! She's more trouble than she's worth! You'd do well to just slit her throat on your way out of town! And she better not come back here. Ever! You hear that?! She's your fucking problem!"

"Yes," the redhead said calmly, as they gently started to move for the door. "She is our problem now."

They pushed through the crowd out into the crisp night air.

"Well, this was certainly more excitement than I bargained for tonight." The dark-haired man sighed, looking her over, concerned. "You're quite a mess."

She shot him a wary glare. "Didn't say you had to help me. Or your friend."

"No, but you did use my knife on that man. I'll have to replace it now." The redhead said, glancing up and down the street. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

The other man sighed wistfully. "Back to the hotel to pack up, hm?"

"Yes."

"You know that I was looking forward to a real bed tonight."

"I know. I'll make it up to you."

She followed behind them, awkwardly pulling her shift tighter around her. "And what'll you do with me?"

"Afraid you'll have to come with us." The redhead simply said. "At least until we clear town and put a few more between us and this place. I'll make you a job offer and you can decide if you want to take it or not."

"Easy as that?" She sniffled, leaning sideways to spit a mouthful of blood into the street. "Does that mean sucking your cocks?"

"No." The redhead answered sharply. "No. And if you work for us, you'll never have to do that again for money."

Had she heard him right? What kind of job was he offering?

They approached the front of the Majestic Hotel which she'd always thought was a ridiculous name for such a shitty place. "I…I can't go in there." She said, slowing her footsteps. "I…I can just be out back, ready for you, if you'd rather."

"Nonsense." The dark-haired man continued ahead, unbothered. "We got to get you cleaned up, and that can't be done in a back alley."

"But the owner – Stephenson." She pulled her shift tighter, protectively. "He's a customer."

The redhead sighed, frustrated. "Oh, for crying out loud."

"You take her. I'll deal with him." The dark-haired one offered, drawing a small smile from the other man.

"Thanks, Nix."

She glanced down as the redhead took her hand, urging her forward.

"Mr. Nixon! And Mr. Winters. Sirs, welcome back so soo –" Stephenson's greeting died as he glared at Winters pulling her into the lobby. "You got this place all wrong – she ain't welcome here!"

"She's not here for that." Nixon said, voice commanding all authority. "We are going to go upstairs, and in 10 minutes, we will all come down and be on our way. We'll pay you in full. No trouble."

"In full? For the three nights that you was supposed to be here?"

"In full." Nothing in Nixon's voice wavered as Winters lead her up the stairs.

"10 minutes." Stephenson's grumble could just be heard from the landing. "Don't think that I ain't counting the time. And if I hear anything untoward -"

"Then, by all means." Nixon's voice carried lazily up the stairs to match his footsteps. "Come break the door down."

Winters opened the door to the room, ushering her inside. "You'll find – uh, clean water in the washbasin. Same with the towel. Clean yourself up, and you'll just have to borrow some of my clothes until we can get you your own."

"This…this ain't right." She said, unable to believe he was just doing all this. What? Out of the goodness of his heart? Everyone always wanted something.

"You should get moving. Nix promised 10 minutes. I'm aiming for less."

She looked from him, rummaging in his leather pack, back towards the washbasin stand. She looked down at her soiled shift, sniffling and stepping forward. The towel material was rough as she picked it up, dipping it in the water.

"What's the deal?" She had to ask, dabbing gingerly at her face, squinting in the mottled mirror. "What's this job -"

"We don't have much time." Nixon's voice cut over hers as the door opened, closing softly.

"Once she's done."

She shrugged down the top of his shift, wiping at the blood that stained her chest. "This job." She said again. "What is it?"

"Wouldn't…wouldn't you rather get dressed first?" She looked behind her in the mirror, seeing both men with their backs steadfastly turned, Winters' arm extended with a shirt and trousers.

She snorted a laugh, reaching out to take the clothes. "Many'a men have seen me naked. It ain't no trouble. You know, y'all're quite a pair of lookers – some of the best I ever laid eyes on."

"Well, that's…that's flattering." The voice she recognized as Nixon stammered.

"Nix," the other man admonished. "That, notwithstanding. We're in the saloon business. En route to our place. And we'll need saloon girls."

"Saloon girls?" She scoffed, running the towel between her legs before adjusting her shift, shrugging into the oversized shirt.

"Yes – create atmosphere. You know, entice the patrons to stay and spend their money." Nixon said.

"Didn't you say I won't be sucking cocks for money with this job?"

"And you won't." Winters called out, resolute. "You don't leave the gaming floor with patrons. You circulate between tables – all look, and only as much touch as you allow. That place you were in…that's not what we're about."

"Never will be." Nixon joined in.

"You mean it?" She stepped into the trousers. "You can turn back now. And you mean, men really go to places where they can't get their prick sucked or brined?"

Winters sighed with a reproachful shake of his head. "We'll have to work on your brothel language.

"Wouldn't want your frail sensibilities to suffer." Nixon teased as a small grin lifted the corner of the other man's lips.

"Well, that…" Honestly, it sounded like heaven – too good to be true. And they were just offering it to her? Like that? They knew nothing about her. "I don't know if y'all are jist crazy or stupid – but working for you has got to be better than working for Jimmy. If, uh, you've suspenders or a rope," she motioned to the pants threatening to slide off her hips. "Then we can go."

"Welcome aboard." Nixon smiled as Winters turned back to his bag. "Lily, was it?"

"Yes, sir – Lily Martin."

"Pleasure, Lily. Lewis Nixon."

"Dick Winters." He held out a pair of suspenders. "Turn around."

She stepped closer, turning around, feeling a tug on the trousers, the movements of his hands deliberately not touching her.

"One more thing," Winters' voice was quiet over her shoulder. "Don't take my knife again. In fact, let's have no more knives – ever. You have a problem, you come to one of us. Understood?"

"Though that was impressive." Nixon added. "Where'd you learn to throw a knife like that?"

"My daddy was a knife thrower for a traveling shitshow. There ain't much I can't do with a knife."

"A specialty act, hmm?" Nixon mused.

"You want a private show?"

"And those facts need go no further than this room." Winters sternly interjected, looping the suspenders up over her shoulders. She took the loose ends fastening them on the waist before turning around. Her head throbbed, and she could barely see out of her right eye, but with this new chance at life – she felt ready for anything.

"Well, Lily Martin," Winters held out his hand. "Welcome to the Easy Saloon."

X

Gene's face pinched tight, incredulous. "Your daddy threw knives?"

"All his life. He was very good."

"And your mama allowed that?"

She smiled suggestively. "More than that, he said. Said it really made her wild for him."

His mouth opened in shocked surprise. "You mean – cutting for pleasure."

"Why not? I had some customers who really liked when I did it to them."

Ron looked from the knife hole in the wall back at her, unfazed by the current direction of the conversation. "So, you're good with knives too. Is what you're trying to say."

"Yes, I'm good with knives. May be a little rusty – it's been six years since I was really allowed to do anything with them. Other than chop food. But I could probably put one through Dike's belly if I've the chance."

"Like Ron said," Gene stated, "won't be that useful when Dike comes with guns."

"No," Ron agreed, "but maybe we can give you something else to throw. How does dyanmite sound?"

Gene turned to glare at Ron. "Are you truly not right in the head? That stuff's unstable – you nearly did for us and yourself with that safe. And now you want your lady love to blow herself up?"

"If this all goes to hell, then she may prefer it to going back to Dike's hospitality." Ron leveraged his taller height to return Gene's glare. "You know they're coming. Even Dike's not stupid enough to miss the trail that we left leading them here. We don't have a lot of time to get set for when they do arrive and Winters isn't here yet."

He paused, reaching for his pouch of cigarettes and striking a match. "I've seen you - you're better with a shotgun, but that won't help us at a distance. If she's throwing sticks of dynamite, that will help confuse and scatter Dike's men. Hell, it might even chase the more cowardly ones away for good – cause don't think that Dike won't bring every hand he can muster to enact the law's vengeance."

Gene stared back at him, obviously considering. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, lips pursing. "Flying sticks of dynamite and us shooting out at them will only do so good. They'll just stand out of range until we run out. Or starve."

Ron's lips quirked with a conspiratorial edge. "They'll struggle to figure out where that range is. There are small kegs of black powder nestled in the various diggings and debris out there. One clean shot and they'll go up."

"Shit." Gene's brows narrowed in accusation. "You are trying to kill us. It's a wonder this whole damn mountainside hasn't blown up yet. What a lovely deathtrap you've created."

"Or a stronghold. The saloon was too vulnerable to stand on its own forever. Even Winters knew that, too. When the Pueblo Desperadoes were arrested, this place was ripe for the picking."

"So, you picked it. Fortified it for a rainy day." Gene shook with his head with a tight, frustrated movement. "If Winters knew what you'd done with this place, I can't decide if he'd kick you out or promote you."

Ron snorted breathily. "What makes you think he doesn't know? How else would he know where to find us?"

Gene fell silent, his lips pursed tight.

Lily sighed, resolutely looking between them. "I'd like to help, if I can. Can't say I'll be any good at throwing dynamite, but I've never fired a rifle, so that's probably a better bet."

Ron nodded, looking back at the other man. "Come on, Gene. This is the only way we get through this."

"Mon dieu." Gene groaned. "If you quote 'The Three Musketeers', I will lay you out flat."

* * *

Up Next:  
October Part III - In which the final showdown brings about the end.

If you're reading this – thank you for making it this far!


	14. October Part III

Her heart raced as she tried to draw steady breaths. Ron had said horses were coming up the ridge, less than half an hour away. The fight would be upon them once they arrived.

She looked down to the crate of dynamite sticks at her feet and the punk that he had left smoldering on the opposite side of the room. Her lips still tingled from their last embrace, her arms still wishing he was here. If she could just stay wrapped up in him forever, she would.

But for now, she had a job to do. With a glance out the window, she surveyed the area leading up to the mine building. The various discarded diggings piles – maybe five or six – had the backsides dug away, exposing the dark wood of the concealed black powder kegs.

She had a decent vantage point from the highest stairwell landing and with the window glass knocked out, she should be able to easily throw out the odd stick of dynamite. But only if Dike and his men were somehow still managing to advance through the exploding black powder and the bullets.

She didn't know where exactly Gene and Ron were hid out. But she knew they were armed to the teeth. Rifles, shotguns, and their revolvers, of course. It was quite impressive, really. She couldn't help but wonder if Lew knew about this place, or if it was a secret that only Dick and Ron shared.

She glanced back around the stair landing, spying a thin stream of smoke still rising from the punk in the corner. Ron had told her that it would be quicker to touch off the sticks with it than trying to fumble with matches. She supposed it made sense. She'd never been in a straight gunfight before as a participant, but Ron assured her that as long as she stayed out of sight, she would be fine.

But then Gene had mentioned something - a Gatling something or other. Ron had cut him off pretty quick, but Gene had gotten far enough to mention that this Gatling thing could pierce through wood and metal. The thought was more terrifying than she wanted to admit. Ron's only dismissal had been that Dike probably couldn't get his hands on one so quickly, and nothing with how they should protect themselves against it.

A low rumble sounded outside. The thunder of approaching horse hooves. Fear spiked within her as she ducked back against the far wall, still trying to see out the window. A herd of men on horseback came up the mountainside - goodness, there were so many. She didn't like big numbers - maybe it was thirty? Forty? Or more?

She gulped nervously, eyeing the posse - all armed with rifles - as they slowed to a stop behind their obvious leader.

"Fugitives of the law!" Dike's voice was unmistakable. "Surrender the prisoner and yourselves, and no harm will come to you! You have my word!"

She wished Gene or Ron was here with her.

"Lily Martin!" Dike called out. "If you surrender, and turn over those that stole you from the scaffold - you, yourself, will be spared the noose! On my honor! Surrender now! You have a half minute! If you do not surrender, then we will open fire. I have over forty men out here!"

Her head shot up at the sound of Ron's voice. So clear, so strong.

"Don't mistake this for a surrender."

She took a step away from the wall to better see. Ron's arms were up, hands open and palms up as he walked right towards Dike. She wanted to scream, her heart pounding.

"Call this a parlay." Ron continued, still approaching Dike with measured steps.

"A what?" Dike snarled, rifle poised.

"A parlay - hm, like the pirates of old?" He paused, with no recognition from Dike. "Then, let's call this a setting of terms. We converse, and you do me no harm until our conversation concludes and I retreat."

Dike hitched the rifle back, considering. "I suppose I can grant a dead man a last request. Very well, Speirs."

Ron lowered his hands, bracing one on his hip. "The way I see it. This is very simple. We have an arrest warrant for one Norman Dike - wanted on at least two counts of murder and one count of conspiracy. And a warrant for one Herbert Sobel will likely follow. So, I'd recommend you make this easy and surrender quietly. Otherwise, you'll take all these men with you."

Dead silence followed Ron's words. She licked her lips nervously, watching as Dike sat stock-still on his horse, staring down at the man she loved. God, she hoped he knew what he was doing.

Dike chuckled softly. "What lies you weave, Speirs. That may work on the hooples in Bluewater, but I refuse to dignify those accusations with any sort of response."

"That's the beauty of a warrant. We're past accusations and into proven crimes."

"Bullshit! You've got nothing!" Dike roared. "You've had nothing! Just the stupidity to spring a convicted criminal from the jaws of justice right as her just desserts were about to be served. Now, you surrender that whore, and maybe, we'll work on a version that doesn't end with your neck also in a noose."

She couldn't see Ron's face to know his expression, but he stood unmoving, presumably staring at Dike.

"Alright." He sounded so disturbingly calm when he finally spoke. "Alright, that's how you want this done." With an abrupt turn, he started back for the mine building.

"Speirs! Don't do this! You can't win and you know it! This doesn't gain you anything!" Dike seethed, visibly agitated as he watched the other man continue to retreat. "Fine! Then, I'll make this easier for you!" He leveled his rifle at Ron's back, lining up the sight.

She rushed for the window, a cry lodged in her throat as a shot rang out and Ron took off in a dead run towards the building, beyond where she could see. More shots started firing. Men's shouts added to the cacophony and she froze, unsure just what to do.

The men on horseback were starting to scatter and disperse. Surely, some of the shots she heard were coming from Gene and Ron? A man fell from his horse, and another. There were too many moving around for her to keep track of Dike - all dressed in a mix of dark clothing and hats.

Puffs of smoke rose from the men who managed to shoot back. She stepped forward, trying to get a better view. A small column of men moved forward through the fray, advancing on the building. Were they too far away for a dynamite stick? She looked to the crate anxiously.

A loud boom and a cloud of smoke rose up outside. Her gaze snapped back to the window to see the carnage the first black powder barrel had left – charred diggings, men unmoving on the ground, hoses fleeing.

A second explosion roared with a flash of fire and smoke, horses rearing up to throw their riders to the ground. True enough, she did see some of the men towards the rear turn and head back down the mountainside. She couldn't help a small, victorious grin. Maybe more would follow them and this would all be over.

Sharp cracks of rifle fire still rang out, men falling from their horses as the shots landed. A rallying cry sounded from the men under attack, and a small group - six or seven strong - surged forward towards the mine building. One fell under a bullet, slumping over his horse. Another black powder barrel exploded off to their right, but it only felled one rider towards the rear.

She scrambled for the smoking punk across the room, running over to the crate and pulling out a dynamite stick. The fuse looked long enough – hopefully it wouldn't burn too quick. She touched the punk to the fuse and it caught with a spark and sizzle. When should she throw it? When was it best to explode?

In an uncertain panic, she lobbed it out the window and scurried to the opposite side of the landing. The building shook with the force of the explosion, dust and dirt falling from the wooden beams.

She peeked forward, not able to see much through the cloud of black smoke – but the charge had stopped, men were on the ground or struggling to get their horses under control. Had…had she killed any? Another man fell from horseback with a cry and spray of blood from a bullet, and she couldn't be sure.

One man was calling out indiscernible shouts and calls – trying to make sense of the chaos. Dike, presumably. Another charging flank mounted up on the far side, coming hard. She watched Ron and Gene's shots find some of their marks but there were too many still coming. She waited for a barrel to explode. But nothing.

With a nervous lick of her lips, she reached for another stick of dynamite, poised to light it. The riders kept coming, rifles at the ready. She touched the punk to the end of the fuse, and threw it out – just in time to see Ron's rangy form dart out from the building.

"Ron!" The explosion swallowed her scream as her heart stopped.

The dynamite burst in a magnificent spray of dirt and smoke, but Ron didn't seem to slow down. What the hell was he doing? He charged through the smoke cloud, leaping across the crater with a hand on his hat to hold it down as he continued to run.

She didn't understand how the men on horseback weren't shooting at him. Or were they and just missing? Could they not believe what they were seeing? She sure as shit couldn't.

He dove behind a diggings pile, the edge of a black powder barrel just exposed. She forgot how to breathe as she watched him reach for the barrel, the rest of his movements blocked by his body. What the _fuck_ was he doing? One errant shot in his direction and that barrel would go up. Just like that. No more Ron.

Fear gripped her, powerless to do anything but watch the insanity – Ron at the diggings pile; the charge of men stalled by the latest explosion and Gene's covering fire.

Ron finished his task, and turned around, still shielded by the pile of diggings. He looked off to his left, swiping his right hand along the brim of his hat in a gesture she vaguely recognized as one of the company's unspoken signals. With a graceful motion, he pushed off the diggings pile, sprinting back for the cover of the building as rifles fired after him.

In the split second that the next sharp rifle crack sounded, the diggings pile Ron vacated burst into a brilliant fireball. She just saw his tall figure disappear into the shadow of the building as flames leapt into the air.

What had he done? None of the previous barrels had blown up like that. And fuck, had Ron been shot in his getaway? It would have been hard to miss him.

More indiscernible shouting sounded and…the men stopped their forward advance, falling back just beyond the last diggings pile, leaving their fallen comrades behind and regrouping. She cursed her lack of numbers – had they even cleared half? It didn't look like it. Why weren't they still coming? Did this mean they had won?

Clanking rattles echoed up the trail, coupled with the telltale rumble of something much larger than a man on horseback. She forced a hard swallow, a newfound fear prickling her spine.

A cart emerged out of the trees, with tall wide wheels to carry the load. But it wasn't a wagon. Sweet merciful lord. It looked like a larger version of the riles the men carried on a platform. The metal barrel gleamed ominously in the sunlight as the men rolled it into position, far away from the nearest black powder barrel. Dike's men descended on it as it rolled to a stop – securing the wheels, climbing onto the platform, unloading long strings of large bullets.

"Lily!" Ron's voice carried up the stairwell. "We need to go. Come down. Now!"

She tossed the smoking punk out the window with a final glance at the men preparing whatever that thing was before fleeing down the stairs. She didn't know she could run that fast.

She reached the bottom, breathing hard, eyes wide with fear as they met Ron's. "What – are you ok? What is that thing?"

"I'm fine." He snapped, face flecked with dirt, rifle slung over his shoulder. "It's a Gatling gun and this building doesn't stand a chance. Follow me."

She tried to tramp down the hurt that reared its head through the fear as she followed him further back into the building. The back wall had three corrugated metal outcroppings built into it, each with a rickety looking wood door concealing whatever was inside. Ron walked up to the metal shed on the far left, throwing the door open to reveal darkness inside.

A damp, musty darkness.

He disappeared inside and motioned for her to follow. Cracks of light poured in through the slapped together metal sheets, wood floorboards ended in dirt, and she found herself staring into a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. The crudely shaped metal hut butted up to the rock face of the mountain, and she could just make out a few wood beams bracing the mine shaft, crusted with something white and stringy.

She gulped nervously. "We're…we're in the mine."

"Yes. The Gatling bullets will get through the front of the building easily enough, but the metal and rock will slow them down." He pointed down the mine shaft. "You'll find a couple of crates a little ways back. Go get behind them."

She squatted down, eyeing the opening wearily. When standing, the top beam had barely reached her belly. The damp, musty smell was stronger down here and she could just hear the sound of water trickling and dripping in the cool air. The darkness from within ate up the light that filtered in from the cracks and still open door. A shiver raced along her skin.

"Are you sure that it's," she swallowed hard, "that this shaft won't collapse?"

All at once, hell opened up - the sound of splintering wood, the building shaking, groaning as the Gatling gun unleashed its barrage.

The main beam of light disappeared as he slammed the door shut against the onslaught. "Go! Go!"

She screamed, startled by his unexpected push as he crowded her into the shaft. It was impossible to see as her crouching movements carried her forward, hands out to catch herself if she fell on the uneven ground. At length, she ran into the solid pile of crates, feeling her way around the edges.

"Here, get behind it." Ron encouraged, helping her feel around in the dark. With her fingers poised on the crate edge, she peeked over the top towards the metal shed through which they entered, feeling Ron crowd in next to her. He angled his body into the crates, arms resting on top of the crate, rifle poised at the door.

The hail of bullets outside the rickety door seemed endless. Even more unnerving were the few that found their marks in the metal hut, punching holes to let pale pinpoints of light shine through. She didn't understand the first thing about this Gatling gun, but it had a terrifying power.

"Where's Gene?" Her voice trembled.

"He has his own mine shaft."

"How…." Another shiver raced through her. "How long can that Gatling thing go?"

"Until they run out of bullets. I doubt Dike left that to chance, though."

"So, we…we have to stay here?" She drew a trembling breath. "Until what…? They run out? Or starve us out?"

"Don't count us out so easily."

As fast as the bullet hellfire had started, silence fell. The last echoes died in the shaft, leaving an eerie stillness. She wrenched another hard swallow, staring ahead at the metal hut and the pinpoints of light. This was almost worse than the previous bullet barrage.

She felt Ron tense at her side, his posture sharpening as he sighted the rifle. Thudding footfalls sounded on the wood floor beyond the metal.

"Get down." His voice was a deadly whisper and she didn't hesitate. She ducked down behind the stack of crates, a tear rolling down her cheek. How long had she been crying?

She had no concept of time as she lay against the damp, cool ground, hidden behind the crates and shielded against Ron's side. She could just make out shadows moving across the pinpoints of light against the mine shaft walls, hear the stomping of boots and the muffled voices of conversation. The Gatling thing was too big to get inside, right? She didn't want to imagine what would happen to them if the Gatling gun opened up at close range.

A loud bang shook the walls of the shaft, Ron scrambling to duck behind the crate with her, a curse on his lips. Loose rock dust fell from the beams as light poured into the shaft. She turned her wide-eyed gaze to Ron, terror plainly across her face. What had just…? Had they…? At least, the thick column of light shining down the shaft allayed her worst fear that they were buried alive.

"Careful now, Speirs!" Dike's voice echoed down the shaft. "Wouldn't want you to catch a splinter or lose an eye before I can see you hanged. Hell, maybe I can get you quartered and drawn for this level of legal offense."

"Don't you worry." Speirs called back, voice taught. "Still fit to fight."

"But you have no way out. Don't you see that it's over? I've cornered you – like a troublesome rat. And now, all I have to do is put you down." A pause fell. "You know, this would make a fitting tomb for the three of you."

"He ain't stupid enough to believe that." Gene's voice sounded down the shaft, and she couldn't stop her gasp or the clench of her heart. How did they get to Gene?

Ron didn't look any more concerned at the revelation.

Dike chuckled. "Well, he doesn't have reason to think I need to take him alive. If a bullet had already caught him, then we wouldn't be here." A crouching shadow blocked the light in the shaft. "What do you say, hmm?" Dike's voice was much clearer now. "Are you gonna come out and surrender, or does your friend here go the way of a wooden box?"

Ron snorted. "You'll have us all in wooden boxes if I come out."

"You still think there's a scenario here where that doesn't happen?"

"It's not over until it's over."

"I admire your bullheaded spirit, Speirs. It's a special kind of stubborn that I don't find very often. But lucky for you, I relish the challenge."

She cried out as a gunshot sang off the stone walls. The bullet pinged off the rock, quickly followed by another shot. She curled into Ron instinctively, tucking herself tighter.

"I like that." Ron called out, angling his head around her to let his voice carry. "You can keep that up."

"Not likely. As much fun as it would be to just end you here, I'd rather see you all made prime examples of for the good townspeople. Let them see your corpses rot high on scaffolds until the vultures have left only the bones." The shadow moved up and away form the mouth of the tunnel. "Come on, get a fire going."

A fresh wave of fear overtook her. She knew the stone wouldn't burn, and they couldn't feasibly set fire to the smattering of beams that held the shaft open. But the smoke? Just how long was this shaft?

"You shouldn't waste your time." Ron said. "Smoking us out won't be possible. This is a deep shaft."

"Don't give him the satisfaction, Ron." Gene called back, disappointment coloring his words.

"Ron?" Dike's voice was heavy with surprised disgust. "Ron? Short for Ronald? That's the infamous R.C. Speirs' first name?" A light round of laughter sounded from the collected assembly outside the mine. The shadow returned to the tunnel entrance. "Ronald, is it? Hmm? You know, I can see why you don't want anyone knowing that – Ronald loses all air of mystery, or fear. No one would ever be afraid of a Ronald. But it's worth it to be afraid of a man only known as Speirs." Dike laughed shortly. "My hat's off to you for that one, Ronald."

Ron grit his teeth. "I'm glad you approve, Norman."

"Though, a'couse, you understand that we'll have to go back and amend your wanted posters and paperwork, Ronald. We can't have an inaccurate record, now."

"Of course not."

Another breathy, amused chuckle floated down the shaft. "Oh, this is an unexpected delight, Ronald." His shadow moved away with another pleased sound. "Ah, lovely. That fire should do nicely, boys. Set it there – yes, at the mouth of the shaft." Her heart started to race at the implication. "Here, boys, use your hats."

Air started to move through the shaft, bringing with it just the faintest – for now – smell of smoke. But it wouldn't be long until it overwhelmed them. She licked her lips nervously, looking to Ron for a sign of anything. He'd thought about so much – what was next? How were they going to get out of this?

Much to her surprise and growing fear, he did nothing. He didn't move or offer anything further to Dike. What…was that all? Was this the end?

A cough bubbled up in her throat, irritated by the growing presence of smoke. Tears pricked in her eyes as all she could do was curl tighter into him, trying to burrow into him. What she wouldn't give to have his arms around her, but he was still poised – still tense with a coiled, fighting instinct. To fight against what though, at this point, she didn't know. Another cough rattled her throat, matched by one low and rough in his throat.

At least they were together.

"Stand aside! Marshal Dike, stand down!"

"Gene!"

"Nice'n easy, now."

"Where's Ron?"

"Down the shaft, sir."

She'd never been so happy to hear Dick and Lew's voices before. And there was someone unfamiliar with them – the first man who ordered Dike around and was still directing orders. Another cough burned her throat as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Get that fire out of the way. Right now!" Lew's words were sharp on the command. More shuffling of shadows and the influx of smoky air dropped off. "Ron? Lily? You alright?"

All the tension drained out of Ron's body as he slumped against the crates, boneless. "Alright." He called back, voice scratchy. "We're alight."

"Glad to hear it."

Ron sighed, eyes dropping closed as he raised a trembling hand to the bridge of his nose.

Unspeakable relief washed over her as her mind struggled to process and register that it was over. They were safe. And she wasn't going to die in a mine shaft. Or, at least, not today. She raised a hand to wipe at her tears, noting her own hand also shaking.

"Can…can you walk?" Exhaustion hung on his words. "Come on, we'll feel better once we're out of here." He held out a hand as he moved, struggling to his feet and help her up. Numbly, she went with him – still trying to find words, still trying to unwind from so much fear.

The scene outside the shaft was unbelievable. The wood front of the building was largely obliterated, debris and splinters everywhere. She could just make out Dike and the row of men with him, all with their hands up, surrendered just outside. That same authoritative voice could just barely be heard outside, issuing sharp orders and commands. Gene was free of any captors, holding out a helping hand at the shaft entrance on one side with Lew on the other.

She reached a hand out, squinting at the brightness, finding it enveloped in Gene's as he helped her stand upright on shaking legs.

"It's alright, Lily – look at me." He coaxed gently as she slowly raised her head. She met his gaze, noting the concern pinching his brow. "You're shaking – we need to get you a blanket."

"A blanket?" Dick confirmed, moving through the room with intent. "Just one?"

"Might make it two." Lew said, hand braced on Ron's shoulder as he stood, shaking his head, drawing deep breaths.

She sniffled, looking at Gene. "How…how'd they capture you?"

"I let them. That was part of the plan."

"Part of the plan?" She struggled to understand. How was Gene getting caught part of the plan?

"Here, how about we sit, hmm?" He suggested softly, steering her over towards an old desk. "Once we're out of here, I'll explain the whole thing. Or Ron can. Whoever you'd like."

Dick interrupted with a soft word, handing a blanket over which Gene accepted with a silent nod. He unfurled it and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Ron coughed, begrudgingly taking the other blanket from Dick. "You sure took your time getting here."

Lew snorted. "Well, you know – we had to make some stops."

"Our two days turned into three." Dick said firmly. "Marshal Sink was delayed a day, which slowed us down more than I would have liked."

"More than I would have liked, too." Ron admitted.

"You did good, Ron." Dick clapped a hand to the other's shoulder with an encouraging nod. "I couldn't be prouder. This place turned out to be great investment."

Lip cleared his throat, sticking his head in through the building's damaged front. "Excuse me, major. Sink's asking for you."

"Alright." He let go Ron's shoulder, moving to follow Lip back outside.

Gene's voice brought her attention back. "I'm gonna go check on Ron - you alright to stay here?"

She gently nodded. "I think so. Thank you." Her mouth lifted in a tired smile as he nodded gently before stepping away.

She sniffled, clutching the blanket tighter around her. Even though the truth of it was all around her, it was still difficult to comprehend.

They had won. They had fucking won.

She wasn't sure if Ron had been telling the truth when he talked about an arrest warrant for Dike, but he must have been. Would this Sink person lead him away in chains? Tied to the back of his horse in disgrace?

She had to see. Slowly, she rose, taking careful steps over to the nearest hole in the building front. Dick was talking in soft tones with an older man, grizzled with experience and a well-kept mustache. She could only guess that was Marshal Sink. As for Dike, he stood with the rest of his posse, a suitably irate scowl marring his face. He probably thought he was safe, that he was going to smoke them out. But they'd held on. They'd held out.

Tears wet her eyes as she continued to survey the destruction. Several bodies lay strewn about, stopped by either a bullet or black powder. It was almost amazing that man was so capable of destroying his fellow man. The war between brothers must have been truly horrific. She swallowed nervously as she glanced over to the Gatling gun, still smoking as it stood silent vigil over the scene. If she never saw one of those again, it would be too soon.

It looked like there was also a diggings pile with an unexploded black powder barrel and she stared at exposed, hastily dug hole. The memories of watching Ron run out into the open fire, directly into the path of the dynamite stick flooded back. How terrified she'd been to see him, how paralyzed to do anything but watch him be blown to bits. Who did he think he was to take a risk like that? Did he spare any thought for her before charging out there?

She turned back over her shoulder to see him, still standing with a similar blanket around his shoulders, looking younger than she'd ever seen him. Lew was saying something in hushed tones as he glanced out front, with both Gene and Ron listening close. But the more she looked at Ron – the more she started to seethe, a storm of emotions welling within her. Relief. Love. Anger. Fear.

"Lily…you alright?" Lew' sudden words were distant in her ears as she only had eyes for Ron.

"You stupid bastard." She grit, voice trembling as she drew deep, shaking breaths. "Who do you think you are? Pulling a stunt like that? Did you think about it, hmm?" At least he had the decency to look guilty as she started to walk towards him, tears in her eyes. "Did you think what would happen? If that powder had gone off – if I had to watch you get blown–!" Her words choked off in a scream as the floorboards underneath her gave.

She could just hear their panicked cries as the ground continued to fall away beneath her, darkness around her. With a heavy crunch, she landed at the bottom of the sinkhole, a cry tearing from her lips as pain exploded in her left leg and arm.

"Lily!" Ron's voice held a barely contained edge of panic.

"Go get a rope!" Gene said. "Lily – can you move?"

"A…a little." She choked off in a pained wince. "My leg's bleeding and my…my arm hurts."

"Nothing on your midsection?" Gene called back down.

She hastily looked down, in the dim light. "No…least, I don't' think so." She could gingerly pick at her leg, noting the large splinter embedded in her thigh. As for her arm, well, she had landed on it.

"That's good. You're gonna be alright." Gene encouraged. "Hold tight. Though, we should all be careful of sinkholes in this deathtrap." He glared over at Ron who sent him back a look that could kill.

"Here, rope." Lew sounded out of breath as she saw his face reappear over the hole. "And a lantern, in case."

"Think you can hold on?" Gene called down calmly, unfurling the rope.

"I don't…I don't know. My arm really hurts."

"Alright, then." Gene said, unbothered. "I'll come to you. You just sit tight. Hand me that bandage roll, will ya?"

"Hey, Lip!" Lew stood up, moving back for the front of the building. "We need you - Lily found a sinkhole."

She sniffled, glancing around as the end of the of the rope fell into view.

"Alright, careful now, y'all." Gene's voice drew up her attention back up.

"You be careful." Lip's calm voice joined in. "Don't disturb anything."

"No, sir."

The smaller, lithe young man sat on the edge of the hole in the floor, reaching for the dangling edge of the rope. With a quick motion he anchored the rope between his feet, swinging out into the hole. She heard the collective grunts of at least the three other men who were counterbalancing the other end of the rope.

"Aw, see? This ain't so bad." Gene's carefree tone threatened a laugh in her throat. His boots hit the pile of dirt, rocks and rotten floorboards next to her. "And to think, we just got you out of a dark shaft. If you wanted to go back down here, you should've just said so."

"Next time." She sniffled, smiling in relief as Gene crouched down next to her, reaching for her right hand with a reassuring squeeze.

"Now, let's see what we got here." He soothed, looking down to her leg.

Lew's teasing voice drifted down. "You must have really done something, Sparky. I didn't know it was possible to be so angry as to stomp clear through the floor. You better marry that girl."

"I will." The conviction in Ron's voice sparked a fierce pride in her. "And soon."

"She's a lucky woman." Dick's warm voice floated into the conversation, and she glanced up to see the tender look shared between Dick and Lew. It brought all sorts of questions to mind. Questions she didn't dare voice here, but once she was out of here and had Lew alone - she would demand answers.

"Lucky is right," Lip added with a nod, surveying the hole that had opened up. "Sinkholes around mines are no laughing thing."

"Yeah, to that point." Gene looked up from wrapping her leg. "How's about y'all getting us outta here?

"Don't go far Dick," Lew said, looking between Dick and the bottom of the sinkhole. "We'll need you to get them up here. Hell, we should use Dike and his posse to lift them up. Why break our backs when…" He trailed off, squinting down in the hole. "What...what is that? Gene - off to your left, there. What's that...it's catching the light?"

She did her best to look as Gene gazed over, reaching out to gingerly touch an exposed rock. It was oddly clear...maybe it had a blue tint? Or was that just the pale light?

"Can't say for sure." Gene called back. "Send down the lantern if you want an answer. But make it quick! I ain't dying for a rock."

"I don't think that's a rock." Lew said as Ron quickly pulled the rope up, tying the end to the lantern. The spray of light as the lantern moved down the sinkhole illuminated so much more. Their mouths fell open, taken aback as sparkles lit from all over the interior.

Brilliant, bright blue sparkles.


	15. Epilogue - September 1882

**Epilogue - September 1882**

The sun shone bright overhead, glinting off the black metal of the steaming locomotive. People bustled everywhere on the platform around her – seeing their luggage to a porter, saying farewells to loved ones, checking their tickets with the cabin conductors. She couldn't help but smile as she took it all in.

They were going to Chicago. At last. Finally! She'd heard Lew speak of it on and off over the years – the luxury of it with delicious food, ever-flowing wine, and theaters galore. It had always sounded so fanciful, so fairy tale. But now she was actually going. They all were.

She looked over to Ron as he stood discussing the arrangement of their trunks with the porter. He'd been surprisingly insistent on seeing to a whole new wardrobe for both of them for this trip – traveling suits, clothes for afternoon promenade, theater and dinner attire. It had been a whirlwind of fabric and fittings and accidental pin stickings, but it had been exciting.

He looked dashing in the late morning light in his dove gray traveling suit and dark hat, nodding as he handed over a tip to the porter. Of course, she looked equally handsome in her dark green wool traveling dress, adorned with matching green velvet accents. Together, they cut a fine picture across the platform in their day attire. But if she were being honest, she most looked forward to seeing her husband decked out in his white tie and evening jacket. Or perhaps, more accurately, she looked forward to peeling her husband out of those clothes at the night's end.

Despite the warmth from the sun soaking into the wool of her dress, she shivered at the chill in the Colorado September breeze. She tucked her hands tighter inside her fox fur muff, smiling at Ron as he walked over.

"Are we all set?" She asked, face lit with excitement.

"We are all set. He wanted to confirm our transfer in Kansas City."

"Kansas City." Even that sounded like a foreign dreamland to her. "Will we have any time to see the sights of Kansas City?"

His nose wrinkled with a hint of disgust. "There's nothing to see in Kansas City – it's just a cattle town, so don't let the name fool you."

"It just sounds fancy. Like – like New York City!"

He chuckled softly. "Those are two very different cities."

"Have you ever been to New York City?"

"Twice, I think. Decades ago. I was very young."

"Decade…," she furrowed her brow, "a decade is ten years, right?"

"Yes." His eyes softened with warm affection as he held his arm out. "We should probably board. Wouldn't want to miss it."

"Of course not!" She pulled a hand free of her muff, looping her arm with his as they started for the train car. "What about the others?"

"They're not too far behind."

"What if they miss it?"

"I suspect they'd rather have a delayed timetable than risk the fuss Mr. Nixon would raise if the train left without them."

She snickered quietly, tramping down on it as they approached the round-faced conductor who smiled amicably. "Ah, good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Speirs!"

"Good morning, Henry." Ron said, handing over their set of tickets.

"Thank you, sir. So pleased to see that you're traveling with us again." The man's eyes widened in surprise as he looked over the documents. "Chicago, my goodness. Have you been before, sir?"

"Once. I look forward to introducing the city to Mrs. Speirs."

"Oh my, yes! Madam – I have no doubt that you will enjoy the finest that Chicago has to offer." He punched their tickets, holding them back out. "Just don't go falling so in love with the place that you convince him to move away now!"

"Oh, I don't think so," she said with a demure smile, "not with the success of the company here."

"Very good, madam. Please." He stepped aside with a grand gesture, holding out a hand for her. "Please do mind the step and make yourselves comfortable. I'll come around after we depart to offer beverages."

She accepted his hand with a polite nod of thanks, stepping up in the well appointed interior of the First Class train car. A few other gentlemen and couples were scattered about the plush benches and armchairs, but she spotted a cluster of seats suitable for four towards the front of the car. Ron followed close behind, taking her hand in a gentle hold as she eased to sit on the bench. He drew her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss to her knuckles as the light caught in the bright blue sparkling gem on her wedding band.

Everyone in town said that old mine had nothing to offer. That men had tried for years, toiled endlessly for nothing but piles of worthless rocks. Apparently,everyone else had given up too soon. With one fortuitous fall through those floorboards, they had discovered a vast deposit of aquamarine stone. A deposit deep enough and rich enough to justify a proper name, a proper operation. A proper company.

 _"How about we call it the Lily Martin Mining Company." Lew said._

 _"Well, I don't intend to be a 'Martin' for much longer."_

 _Lew hummed. "If it's not presumptuous, could just as easily call it the Lily Speirs."_

 _Her fiancé shrugged. "Why not simply call it the Lily Jo?"_

With that, the Lily Jo Mining Company had been born and continued to produce enough aquamarine to see them all comfortably situated for years to come. It shouldn't have surprised her – but it did – when the simple gold wedding band that she'd always dreamed of showed up on the wedding day adorned with a flawless, polished aquamarine gemstone.

Ron always did have a good eye for nice things.

And now it was time to celebrate. Ron had said that Chicago would be a fine place for a honeymoon. Lew had promised to take Dick to Chicago for years. Would there ever be a better time?

Lew swept into the train car with breezy movements, equally bedecked in a smart traveling suit. "Trying to leave without us, I see."

He had never looked so happy as he had in these past two years. Of course, when he finally told her why, she had squealed with joy and wrapped him in the biggest of hugs. Dick stood quietly by while she gushed about her happiness for them, but even he hadn't escaped a joyful embrace. Ron didn't find out right away, but when the news was finally put to him, he wasn't surprised.

It still brought a smile to her face.

"We weren't trying to leave without you." She said, glancing up at Lew. "Mr. Speirs just remarked that they would likely risk a delayed timetable over the fuss you would raise if the train departed."

Lew looked at Ron with a skeptical look, as if trying to decide if he should take that as a compliment or an insult. "Hm, never knew you cared so much, Sparky."

Ron didn't flinch at the drop of the nickname. "Did you get everything settled with Mr. Lipton?"

"Yes, he should have no trouble while we're away seeing to the company – either of them."

She still found it comforting that the familiar faces from the saloon – Roe, Gaurnere, Luz, and others – were still gainfully employed, doing what Dick had all hired them for. The Easy Company was still alive and well within the newly minted Lily Jo Mining Company, still setting out on the trail to help the victims of injustice as word was spread. Fortunately for her and the newlywed Mrs. Lipton, both Ron and Carwood received roles that kept them daily at the mine and off the trail.

Ron nodded gently. "Did Liebgott and Webster get away alright this morning?"

Lew's smile held a distinctively mischievous edge as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "No. Apparently, they lit out for Cheyenne late last night, trying to get a jump on things."

"Clever of them."

"At each other's throats like wildcats, though."

"It keeps the trail conversation lively."

Lew's only response with an amused chuckle.

She licked her lips, looking around the train car. "Where's Mr. Winters?"

"You know him, the old fusspot," Lew teased, "he was discussing the transfer in Kansas City with the porter. Confirming he knew which trunks went where."

"Even Mr. Speirs saw to that." She looked up proudly at her husband. "You shouldn't judge Mr. Winters for it."

"I don't think anyone on this earth can rightly judge Mr. Winters." Lew dropped to sit, struggling to hide a wince as he settled against the armchair. It brought a sly smile to her face as she caught his eye.

Ron chuckled ever so softly. "Sleep poorly?"

Lew glared up at him. "Don't get clever."

Ron's face held nothing contrite or innocent. "I only asked if you slept poorly."

"Well, whether I did or didn't will be of no consequence by the time we put in to Chicago."

She smiled, eyes bright with excitement. "What's the name of the hotel, again, Mr. Nixon?"

"The Virginia Hotel."

"Oh yes." She remembered now. "I still don't understand why it's the Virginia Hotel in Chicago, Illinois which is not in Virginia."

Ron moved to sit beside her on the bench. "I think it might be named after the owner's wife. But as I recall, my father preferred to stay at Hotel Richelieu, so I can't say for sure."

It still amazed her each time Ron dropped a fact from his childhood. Part of her couldn't understand why he had left that world – his upbringing and lifestyle sounded just as comfortable as what Lew was accustomed to. She could only guess it was the age-old adage that money couldn't buy happiness that had lead both men away from that side of the country.

But as the Chicago trip loomed ever closer, both Ron and Lew seemed to enjoy comparing the tales of what they each knew from their previous travels.

Nixon shook his head, indulgent. "Oh, the Virginia Hotel is far more exclusive. Private. And centrally-located. Superb access to the best theaters, to say nothing of the Opera House."

"What's this about an opera?" Everyone turned to look at Dick as he took the armchair next to Lew. "I didn't think we were going to an opera."

"Well, we might." Lew said. "I don't think our schedule is so full that we couldn't entertain it some night."

Lily looked between them with an excited smile. "I don't even know what an opera is."

"There you see? That settles it." Lew looked to Dick with a sidelong glance. "Now we'll have to take in an opera."

Dick hummed. "So long as we can still catch a White Stockings game."

Ron scowled. "The White Stockings?"

"Chicago's premier baseball club." Dick said, face alight. "Saw an article about them years ago. Always wanted to go to a game."

Lew sighed, an indulgent sound. "The games at Yale were never that enthralling, but I know how much it'll mean to you. Of course, we'll find an afternoon and go to a game. All of us."

First opera? Now baseball?

She tucked her hand back in her muff with a giddy, gleeful smile as the train whistle sounded.

What other wonders awaited them in Chicago and beyond?

 _Fin_

* * *

Here, at last, we come to the end - and it didn't take me six years! Many, many thanks to everyone who read this journey. I thoroughly enjoyed researching & writing & spinnin' this yarn - and it's my thorough hope that you enjoyed it, too. Now it's time for a belt of good 'ol frontier whiskey.

Cheers till next time, y'all!

-MidnightB


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